


Let's Kill Tonight

by Cant_We_Just_Dance



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Police, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Alternate universe - Mafia, Believed Infidelity, Blood, Cheating, Court Procedures, Drugs, F/M, Gen, Infidelity, Light Angst, M/M, Mafia AU, Modern Era, Mostly Cocaine, Murder, NOTHING IS GRAPHIC, Nanowrimo Project, New York City Accepts Gay People Now, Organized Crime, Slow Burn, Suck It- Thats Why, Torture Mentions, Yeah the title is from a P!ATD song, the fuck you gonna do about it?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-02-07 11:49:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 51,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12840534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cant_We_Just_Dance/pseuds/Cant_We_Just_Dance
Summary: People are watching him, that much Alexander is sure of.The police are at his heels, while the mafia is reaching out with their claws to maul him into something unrecognizable. And his partner in crime? He wants something he'll never get from a man married to the police captain.If they flee from the day just enough, maybe they'll be able to kill the night in which they blend in so well.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, this was my Nanowrimo project! Please make sure you read the tags before reading the fic- it can get kind of messy. If you liked it, please comment and kudos- it really helps writers like me!

In moments such as these, when the world was half-broken into the midnight sky-blue lace cloak of slumber, and pain was simply a faded memory like old newspaper print, the entirety of everything was undeniably perfect. The evening was not a lifestyle as it was on weekends in the bustle of the city. Instead, upon this sunset, most were spending the night inside- some at their desks, some in their homes alone or with the ones they loved, and a very select few in dark alleyways.

Residual rainwater from earlier in the day dripped down the sides of the gutters, clogged from leaves and muck and unlikely to be cleaned until the half-dead residents of the building called their landlord to do something about it before winter snowfalls began. Bricks lined the alleyway, some burnt from time in being created, and the other side perfectly uniform due to the building being one of the new ones in a city where novelty overtook the need for authenticity. In any case, the dumpsters provided a small, dark space where less than moral encounters could occur. Though in all honesty, anyone that found themselves in such a place on purpose could be less than concerned with such things as morals.

There, in a dark, wet alley, where footsteps squelched and the air stank with stagnancy, was where Alexander Hamilton stood, in the shadow of the green metal dumpster as he awaited the words he so desired to hear from his partner on anything but romance. Next to him was a man whose heart was so dark it made his tall shadow seem like the first glint of sunlight when one opens their eyes in the morning. With smoke billowing around them like beaded curtains, the taller man leaned over Hamilton and trailed his fingertips along his forearm. The sudden touch on skin that was typically left untouched left a strange, yet not unwelcome, ripple down through his mind. Turning, Alexander felt the taller man step forward and hold him gently by the arm as he leaned low enough to speak quietly and be heard by the ears his words were meant for.

“Let’s kill tonight,” Thomas whispered, each syllable as sharp as the blade of the knives hidden in the lining of his waistcoat. His eyes were narrowed in adamancy, making the other man well aware that answering anything but in the affirmative would surely end in his demise.

Luckily, Alexander could never say no to Thomas Jefferson.

Turning around with a pivot of his feet, the leather squeaking against the rough gravel, he gazed up at Thomas intently. “And pray tell, how would we get away with any of this?” Alexander inquired playfully, the teasing in his tone only evident to those that had heard such words before. “Murder is a crime, you know- premeditated murder, especially.”

“Has that ever stopped you before?” Thomas asked, cocking an eyebrow in a mocking front of confounding curiosity. Reaching forward, he pulled Alexander close by the waist, his grip so tight it almost death-like, and his eyes even more deadly in their gaze. He could almost sense the flow of electricity that was sent down the shorter man’s spine from the edges of Thomas’s touch, and he would be lying if he claimed not to have grinned at such knowledge. “Have you ever seen their last look of shock and not been utterly delighted at such a lovely sight? Never reveled in the echoes of a final scream shrieking through the cold, biting air of an empty city and half past midnight? Do you claim that the world has never fit into perfect pieces as the last little droplets of crimson fall to the ground, dripping from their perfectly torn skin?”

Alexander moaned softly at the mental image of such a sight, such blood strewn on the ground with gore, and lighting that pulsed inside himself as he cut ever so perfectly into their skin- pale, dark, tan… It doesn’t matter the shade, as long as it finds itself clouded with that shade of red that could never be replicated. Not in the roses of the gardens, nor in the high noon sky of smog-filled air, nor in his cheeks when Thomas pressed their bodies together as he did so perfectly. Their breath in the cold air puffed out like pale cotton balls, although the words spoken would not be soft ones. At least, they would not sound such a way if one did not know that this was a conversation they’d replicated many a time.

“I wish to have no part in these ‘festivities’- which is a kind way of putting what you wish to spend your night doing,” Alexander spat, lower lip caught in a slight pout as he looked up at the taller man through his long eyelashes. “And if you wish to not be reported to the local authorities and locked away for a very long time, I suggest that you let me go, you foul excuse for a man.”

“Foul excuse for a man?” Thomas repeated, pulling Alexander even closer, their skin almost touching if not for the thick coats they wore in contrasting colors. “Now now, my Alexander, that is no way to speak to me. After all, you seem to have forgotten that I am more than well aware of the ‘festivities’ you have taken place in. I have even witnessed them; while they lack in finesse, they are certainly a lovely scene to set one’s gaze upon, and I would truly hate for an artist such as yourself to be lost to the powers of publications of the Times. Is that what you wish to happen, puppet?”

“Well, if you call me by that name one more time, I think you’ll be able to experience my abilities firsthand,” Alexander countered, halfheartedly making an attempt to free himself from Thomas’s grip and failing miserably. He sighed softly in defeat and gave in to the embrace of the dark man before him- not like he was actually desiring to be free, anyway. “But I haven’t forgotten the leverage you have over me, although you must have forgotten that you couldn’t inform the police of my whereabouts without revealing yourself as well.”

“See? This is why I stay,” Thomas murmured, leaning into Alexander and pressing a soft, somehow threatening, kiss to the crook of his neck. “Could never trust someone with my hobby unless they were as absolutely brilliant as you are. Now come; it’s already time for us to get back to work. Our smoke break is nearly over.”

“Smoke break my ass,” Alexander spat, taking in a deep breath as Thomas let go of his waist- restricted airflow was good enough for most people, but for someone as small as Alexander? It was nearly torturous. “Might as well just say that we’re fucking out here- would give the office something to talk about for once. We wouldn’t need to sneak around anymore.”

“Yeah, right,” Thomas replied, righting his jacket and smoothing out the newly formed creases in his pants. “Then we’d have to act like a real fucking couple- and you’d be too cramped hiding under my desk when you gave me head, anyway; it’d never work.”

Alexander felt a shiver travel down his spine at the very thought spun by the threads of Thomas’s words. Biting his lip to contain a soft not-quite moan, he nodded solemnly, turning around and buttoning back up the last few buttons of his shirt that had come loose from his and Thomas’s fervent, hushed planning. “We wouldn’t have to be a real couple- just act real enough that if suspicion arose about us, it’d be easily shrugged off. We couldn’t keep up a life of… This, if we were committed to a long-term partner.”

“Yeah, that’d work, if you weren’t already in a relationship,” Thomas pointed out, crossing his arms and leaning against the semi-damp brick wall beside him as he waited for Alexander to finish up. “Or have you just up and forgotten about dear Gilbert and his Johnny boy?”

“Our John- not Johnny boy,” Alexander corrected, turning back around to face Thomas once his jacket had been set to rights. “Why do you always insist that he’s only Lafayette’s?”

“Because John doesn’t love you-”

“Of course John loves me!” Alexander cut him off sharply, eyes narrowed in the low flame of fury that had been sparked in his heart. “Why wouldn’t John love me? We’re in a poly with Laf where all of us are sexually and romantically involved with each other! We’re equals in the relationship, and John and Lafayette know that if they wanted something else out of our relationship, they could just tell me, and I’d be okay with it because I love them and they love me.”

“They love you?” Thomas asked, the mocking tone from earlier having found its way back into his voice. “Well, I’m sure they’d absolutely still love you if they knew exactly who you are. Exactly what you are.”

“You wouldn’t fucking dare,” Alexander growled, leaning forward in a feeble attempt to seem threatening to the other man as if Thomas knew of but had not assisted in his murderous tendencies. “You know that if this got out, we’d both be ruined- hell, we’d probably share a jail cell before they put us into maximum security. Face it, Jefferson. If either of us tells anyone, and I mean anyone at all, we are going to spend our last day in the fucking electric chair. So do me a favor and shut your bitch ass mouth with those threats. The only thing you’ll get from those is overheard.”

Thomas scoffed at the idea, leaning forward and tightly grasping Alexander’s wrist before the shorter man could leave up the stairwell and retreat back to his office, where papers and pens lay strewn on the desk and floor haphazardly. His grip was tight enough to whiten the skin where he gripped Alexander and pulled him back toward the brick wall.

“Then tell me, Hamilton,” Thomas spat, the syllables of Alexander’s last name harsh on his tongue with the sharply spoken tone he took. “Why aren’t you out celebrating your anniversary with them? Isn’t that tonight?”

“John’s swamped with work tonight, and so am I. Lafayette is fine with rescheduling, and we have a lovely dinner planned for tomorrow night, since tomorrow’s Friday. John will get home about an hour before I do, like always when he has to do extra paperwork, and in that time he will comfort Lafayette because Laffy doesn’t like being put after work. I’ll get home with cupcakes and we’ll have a wonderful night together before we can celebrate properly.”

“Then I don’t think your texts make sense,” Thomas pointed out, a sick sort of amusement filling his dark, glimmering eyes as he stood in the pale light of the cloudy autumn sky. “I ate dinner with you in Washington’s office, then we went out on our ‘smoke break’. In all that time, Lafayette or John never called or even texted you to wish you a happy anniversary?”

Alexander’s eyes widened at the sudden realization, pulling his phone out of his back pocket and felt his heart sink just the slightest bit at his call history. No missed calls from John or Lafayette in the past week. Checking his texts as well, his heart sank even further down in his chest- the last text he’d gotten from John was one reminding him to get milk yesterday, and his last one from Lafayette was from earlier this morning when being asked about if he’d remembered to bring his lunch.

Nothing at all even resembled a word about their anniversary.

“That’s none of your business,” Alexander spat, tucking his phone back into his pocket with little caution or care as to if it fell to the ground or not. “And you shouldn’t even be concerned with things like this- we’re partners, not boyfriends.”

Despite his words, Alexander’s mind flashed back to earlier that morning- the sunlight streaming through the open windows as city air flowed in. John’s curls caught the light and spun them into strands of gold like the rings on each of their left hands. Lafayette’s mouth had been half-open, small drops of drool spilling out onto the pillow beneath his head. Instead of waking with his husbands, Alexander had risen an hour before their alarm was set to ring, knowing he had far too much work to do. Sure, he would have absolutely loved to stay in bed, but on a morning like this one? When Lafayette was tangled in with John, and Alexander had been resigned to the corner of the bed?

He didn’t particularly need to stay in bed, those mornings.

That was not to say that he had been inconsiderate toward the needs of his partners, however. In fact, he had acted quite the opposite. He’d cut up two apples, the ones John loved so much, and put them in a bowl on the table, even going so far as to leave a small note addressed to both of them that said ‘happy anniversary’ in glittery gel pens. He hadn’t been able to say it in person, so a note would be a fair replacement.

He hadn’t received any sort of replacement of his own. Not one.

“Fuck you, Jefferson,” Alexander cursed as if the occurrences of the day were the other man’s fault. “Fuck you.”

And with a few steps away and up the stairs, Alexander left Thomas in the alley, with only the stale city air and an empty grasp on the cigarette smoke that hadn’t been purposefully inhaled.


	2. Chapter 2

The musty scent of Washington’s files, both new and old, flooded the room, each little particle of dust floating through the air and dancing in the sunlight. Of course, sunlight only stretches so far. After a mere few inches of the golden gleam of sunlight, it was halted by the fluorescent shine of the cheap bar-shaped lights they used in the office building. One of the secretaries, Peggy Schuyler, had been trying to convince Washington that more environmentally-friendly lights would be better for the well-being of the employees and their work, but Washington refused to budge in his stance.

“In my day,” Washington began, not even bothering to look up from his paperwork on the current case they were handling and checking off a few boxes. “We didn’t complain about the quality of the lights, much less campaign for lights that were safer for the environment. The environment can kiss my ass, for all the good it’s done me- and it’s not the one signing your paychecks, Ms.Schuyler, now is it?”

The yellow-clad woman pouted with her lower lip, brows furrowing as she set the file folder down on her boss’s desk, the pale manilla a stark contrast to the deep shade of glossy oak. Her mascara was slightly clumped from rubbing her eyes in frustration, and the jet black lines on her fingertips transferred easily to the papers she had been holding. The dark color on pale cardstock on dark wood created a somewhat rippled effect, like a pond where each stone skipped across it required a six-year degree at the very least.

“Mr.Washington, while I would not use such language concerning my idea, I understand the point you are trying to make,” Peggy replied, biting her lower lip and consequently adding the smallest smidge of pink to her front teeth. She smoothed the fabric of her skirt, absentmindedly fiddling with the lace fringe on the edge as she continued speaking. “But I really think that if you just took a few looks at my plan, you’d understand how it’s really a cost-saving endeavor, and-”

“And how much I don’t care about it,” Washington finished for her, narrowing his eyes at the woman before him. “And, to be blunt, Ms. Schuyler, I think that you are wasting valuable time that I could be dedicated to my work- you of all people should know how difficult this case was to get. What with all the press coverage over it, you’d be a fool to think I could just skim the case file and be ready in time for court. Are you a fool, Ms.Schuyler? I don’t believe that to be a fitting description for you, but please do tell me if that’s how you see yourself.”

“No, Mr.Washington, sir,” Peggy grumbled, biting her lower lip in quiet frustration and spreading even more scarlet lipstick onto her previously white teeth. “I apologize for any inconvenience I may have caused you with my overly insistent manner, and will do my best not to bother you again with unnecessary matters. Is there anything you need from me while I’m upstairs, any copies you need making?”

“Yes, actually,” Washington replied, reaching forward and picking up the folder Peggy had set on his desk. “Throw this in the recycling on your way out- you must enjoy recycling if you’re so intent on saving the planet. And I suggest that you invest in some waterproof makeup- the folder is practically covered in whatever the hell you call that thing women put on their eyelashes.”

Suppressing a scowl, Peggy gently took the file into her hands- the file she’d worked on for nearly a month to put together- and left the room, making a silent reminder for herself to check her teeth for lipstick, and to bring makeup wipes into the bathroom when she went there to cry. It would do no good to have dark trails of mascara down her cheeks when she finally reemerged. Pushing open the door, she tried her best to walk out of the room without storming out and slamming the door like an angry toddler during bedtime, but instead found herself face to face with none other than Alexander Hamilton.

“Hamilton,” She greeted coldly, her voice as sharp and biting as the air outside. Her attitude toward the man had previously been a kind one, even affectionate, in a strange sort of friendly way, but once the man broke her sister’s heart? She no longer found herself in need of his friendship.

She could almost still feel the warm tears streaming down Eliza’s face onto her shoulder as she held her sister close, reassuring her sister that she hadn’t been the problem. No, you didn’t say anything wrong, no, you didn’t wear the wrong dress, no, you shouldn’t have offered to have sex with him to make him stay. Yes, it’s true. He did leave you for his roommates.

“I need to speak with Washington,” Hamilton murmured, averting his gaze due to being well aware as to the youngest Schuyler’s opinions on the matter of Alexander Hamilton: Cheating Whore of the Century. “We have a meeting on the latest case.”

“Probably just going to fuck him, just like you fuck everyone you see,” Peggy spat, her typically bubbly persona having fallen flat at the memories of long, sleepless nights with Eliza, spent consoling her and watching bad rom-coms and cheap ice cream. “Then maybe break his heart, too. You’re rather good at doing that-”

“Miss Schuyler, is there an issue with the doorway?” Washington called out without the slightest hint of amusement, causing Peggy to roll her eyes and push Hamilton aside in order to walk down the hall, tossing the file into the little blue bin for recycling. Papers fell to the floor, only halfway reaching their desired destination as the floated to the faded carpeting of the hallway.

Sighing softly, Alexander dropped to his knees- a position that would have made the youngest Schuyler scoff- and began to pick up the papers, not bothering to read them as he did so. Instead of crumpling them up into balls, he hastily stacked them into a small pile, about halfway finished before he heard an impatient, forced cough from the man standing above him.

Looking up, he found himself at dick-sucking (as Thomas was so fond of referring to it as) level with his boss, George Washington. The man stood at a formidable height, and although his previous conversation had been one of little interest and a tinge of frustration, his eyes were now wide with pity melded with a strange sort of concern for the shorter man.

“Son, why don’t you take a seat?” Washington spoke softly, his tone much gentler than what was typical of the man. His words, as usual, were less a half-formed, half-heard suggestion and more of a solid demand.

Complying easily, Alexander stood and brushed the dust off his knees before heading inside Washington’s office and sitting down in one of the chairs on the opposite end of the desk from where Washington would sit. He tried his best not to hold his breath as he heard the creaking and little ‘clack’ that signified the door being shut and locked- they really needed to replace that door. As Washington took his heavy footsteps toward his desk, he pulled up his chair and sat down, not leaning back as he usually did in his meetings with Hamilton. Instead, he sat up, back straight, as he stared intently at the other man. It was a familiar position, one Alexander had often seen Washington use when breaking the news to a client’s close family or friends; Alexander had simply never expected to be on the receiving end of such a look.

“Hamilton,” Washington began, exhaling in an exasperated manner, as though he was carrying a weight in his heart that would only be lifted upon informing Alexander of whatever he had meant to tell him. “It has come to my attention that your… Relationship status may be interfering with your work.”

“I-Sir!” Alexander objected, sitting up fully with anger coursing through his veins as he narrowed his eyes. “I would hope that you aren’t implying that my marriage is a distraction to my coworkers! And discrimination based on sexual orientation or marital status is, quite frankly, illegal; I had hoped that the head of a law firm would know such a thing, especially after the Von Steuben case. But please, continue.”

“Hamilton- Alexander. Alexander, how many people you are with, and their gender, is not what troubles me,” Washington corrected the other man, continuing to speak at Hamilton’s slight twinge of confusion crossing his expression. “It matters more whom you are married to. John Laurens- the police captain.”

“John’s occupation has nothing to do with mine,” Alexander was quick to point out, sighing softly at the relief of not being fired for his sexual orientation- such thing only happened to his clients. And besides, he knew well enough how easy it was to avoid the grasp of the NYPD; he and Thomas had many a night of practice in such a thing. “And even if it did, I assure you that I would never in good conscience break the law just to get ahead in my career.”

“I know that Alexander,” Washington sighed, leaning back slightly and flicking a speck of lint off of his desk. “But I highly doubt that the other police officers know how proud you are to be entirely self-made. And what about on a federal level? Would the feds know that, were we to be under inspection for a mistake on the company’s taxes?”

“...Sir, am I being fired?” Alexander asked tentatively, raising an eyebrow in confusion; this certainly would be a rather convoluted way of relieving Alexander of his duties, but he supposed that Washington was aware that if he did so with incorrect phrasing, he’d be hearing from lawyers. “Because if so-”

“I’m not firing you, son,” Washington cut him off, waving his hand dismissively, as though that would quell Alexander’s fears and thoughts that raced through his mind like the sharp slices of a knife at half past midnight on a bitterly cold Sunday midnight. “I’m reassigning you. Since we can’t have you on big profile cases- conflict of interest and whatnot- I’m forced to resign you to smaller cases, ones lower on the press’s radar.”

“What kind of smaller cases?” Alexander inquired, feeling his heart sink at his boss’s words- no more high-profile cases. No more news coverage, fewer promotions, less overall cases; a lesser legacy. His greatest fear was so close, he could almost reach out and grasp it, his fingertips just barely holding it in his mind’s eye. “Just companies being sued? Or maybe a defense on attempted murder allegations?”

“Divorces,” Washington corrected, unable to look anywhere near Alexander’s general direction, much less make eye contact with the man whose hopes and dreams he had just singlehandedly shattered like a purposefully dropped mirror. “Maybe custody cases, perhaps even smaller charges of embezzlement. But no high-profile cases, not for you.”

“Sir, you can’t do this!” Alexander objected, standing and setting his hands down on the desk as his brow furrowed in desperation. “My specialty isn’t family law, I could never-”

“Then I suppose it’s a good thing you’ve always been a rather quick learner,” Washington commented coldly, picking up his papers and settling them into a steady shape before handing them over to Alexander. “This is your newest case, it’s a divorce with allegations of spousal abuse.”

“But what about the Arnold case?” Alexander insisted, refusing to take the paper in hand, refusing to physically admit defeat, much less emotionally. “You can’t just hand off a case with that sort of depth! It’s taken me months of reviewing interrogations and court statements and bank statements and-”

“That case has been reassigned to Burr. He had plenty of time to prepare for it,” Washington replied, still holding up the case file, paperclips glinting in the fluorescent lighting. “I never make these sort of decisions without calculating for collateral damage. And if you don’t make a fuss about all of this, there won’t have to be any sort of fallout.”

“...How long has this been being prepared for?”

“Long enough,” Washington replied coldly. “Now take the papers and get the fuck out of my office. I have work to do- and so do you. Your court date is in two weeks and you still need to talk to your client.”

Scowling at the taller man, Alexander took the papers harshly enough to almost tear them, and stormed out of the room, making sure to slam the door on his way out, just in the way Peggy had wanted to do earlier. He stomped down the hallway, silent fury brewing beneath his chest. He wondered how many people must have known about this, how many must have kept this from him-

And he could have sworn that he saw Peggy Schuyler smirk as he walked past the break room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing is fun,  
> But reading is, too,  
> Comment for me,  
> Promise I will love you <3


	3. Chapter 3

Alexander Hamilton’s apartment was rarely quiet.

Almost constantly, it was flooded with sound waves crashing into one’s mind, flowing and rippling across their thoughts before they could even decipher what the noises were attempting to convey. The pulsations of energy pushed out onto one’s body, never in an overwhelming manner- not to Alexander, at least. Instead, it shot down his spine like spikes of electricity in a world where everything was coated in a sheet of static. Warmth instead of bewilderment flowed into his tight-from-stress muscles, and he set down his file on the coffee table, taking in a deep breath of the scent of lit vanilla candles and Lafayette’s lavender bubble bath soap, and… sex?

Listening closer, Alexander could hear, instead of soft giggles or the typing of John that was so typical during times when he had a heavy workload, the apartment was moans and quiet shouts of his partners’ names. Smiling softly, Alexander headed to their shared bedroom- of course they were fucking, it was their anniversary. And really, was there any better way to celebrate than by memorizing each curve and arc of each other’s bodies?

Opening the door to his bedroom quietly, he leaned against the doorframe in awe at how purely gorgeous his husbands were. Of course, when he sighed in amazement, John turned to look at the source of the sound and shrieked as he kicked Lafayette off and covered himself with the sheets that had been previously kicked aside. When the taller man turned to look, his cheeks flushed red and he covered himself with his hands, glaring at Alexander possessively.

“Do you mind?” Lafayette asked, his tone not playful like it usually was; instead, it took on a shape of menace, silently threatening him that if he did not leave soon enough, there would most certainly be consequences. “We were in the middle of something.”

“I…” Alexander began, about to stammer his way through a sentence without thinking of what he was going to say first- which was usual. “It’s our anniversary?”

“Yes,” Lafayette agreed, now scowling at Alexander instead of grinning hopelessly like he usually did when their anniversary was mentioned in conversation or even a small reminder on his phone calendar. “And I was having anniversary sex with my gorgeous husband, whom you’ve shocked with your presence. Leave. We don’t need you at the moment, and have no desire to add you to the mix.”

“...Okay?” Alexander replied, not entirely sure of what the exact reason for Lafayette’s disinterest was. Usually, when one of the three walked in on the other two, they were welcomed into the fun, especially on occasions such as this one. Nevertheless, Alexander simply assumed that Lafayette or John needed something more intimate with the other, and they would apologize for or explain their actions. “It’s my night to make dinner, is Chinese okay?”

“John already made food for us,” Lafayette spat. “It’s cold now, just reheat it once you leave. Which is something you should be doing. Right now.”

Frowning at Lafayette’s words, Alexander stepped backward and out into the hallway, closing the bedroom door as he left. His frown only dug further into his face as he heard Lafayette’s footsteps toward the door, followed by the click of the door being locked before John asked if it was over.

Biting his lower lip in nervousness, Alexander pivoted on the ball of his foot and stalked back to the living room, shag carpet beneath his feet preventing his stomps of frustration from being louder than he wished them to be. Sitting down on the leather couch, the fabric beneath him crinkling slightly as he did so, he laid back and picked up his case file. Opening it up, he found himself furrowing his brow in confusion at the contents of it.

Instead of a simple layout, with images of the soon-to-be ex-spouses, a few paragraphs detailing their side of the story each, his eyes fixated on the young woman in the first picture, the one to the left.

Maria Reynolds.

Biting his lip in a sudden surge of anxiety, he turned the page only to find another picture of her- of course, that was there, it was her divorce. It was her divorce. In any circumstances other than the one he found himself in, Alexander would have turned the file back to Washington, citing a potential conflict of interest. But now? When his job was on the line due to his husband’s occupation?

Alexander would have to resign himself to representing the woman he had been between the legs of just a mere few years ago.

It had been a brief affair, only lasting the one night they had found the comfort they hadn’t been aware they needed when the air was sticky and reeked of smoke and street vendor food. She had approached him late one night when he was alone in the office building (and he hadn’t even bothered to inquire as to how she’d gotten in). He could almost still remember how the door to his office creaked open as she stalked in, her eyes focused on the ground and hair styled to hide what was obviously a black eye.

Her husband, she had said, in a low, almost impossible to hear the voice. He was beating her, in addition to almost every sort of abuse that could be done to one’s spouse. She was not asking for legal help, as she had no money of her own, but she needed someone to talk to, and maybe a place to stay for the night. She had run from her husband, and he might be out looking for her.

Alexander had led her back to his too-empty apartment, cleared out in preparation for moving in with his then-girlfriend. Once he’d sat her down on the couch, he had asked questions, taken notes, paid close attention to each small movement of hers, until she collapsed into sobs from a particularly bold inquiry, and Alexander wrapped his arm around her shoulders to comfort her. He did not make it a habit to make physical contact with his clients, although he idly supposed that she was simply a scared woman in need of a friend, not a client. So maybe that made it alright.

Instead of pushing or flinching away from the kind touch, as most women in her position did, she had leaned against Alexander’s chest, tears dampening the front of his jacket. Her scarlet dress was wrinkled (from having, as she told him, ran from the apartment while her husband was out at the bar for the fifth time that week) and matching lipstick accidentally landed on his throat when she tried pulling away and fell forward briefly.

She had pulled herself up hurriedly, eyes wide with a sort of innocence that didn’t quite make sense for all the violet and pink-tinged skin on her skin- and yet, something about it was so amazing, so brilliantly unavoidable. So Maria had leaned forward once more and allowed her lips to linger on the side of his neck, bared from when he’d cast aside his only nice jacket, the one he’d worn for that special meeting today. Looking up at him as Alexander leaned back slightly against the side of the couch, she allowed the third kiss to suck against the tan skin, pulling something up and out of the depths of the man. He’d laid back and allowed Maria to take the lead, unable to let his attachments to another woman fade into his mind as he found himself entirely enthralled with Maria.

Nobody needed to know.

That’s what she had said the next morning, as she adjusted the hem of her dress. Braiding his hair back loosely enough that strands of coiled curls spilled out over her head like the edges of a melted tiara. But she was no queen, and he was no king, and they were nothing. Nothing mattered concerning the two of them, and so long as neither of them spoke of the incident, they would not have anything to worry about.

But when Alexander walked into the office building that Monday morning, three days after he’d betrayed his Eliza, the woman in question had cornered him with tears streaming down her face. Instead of screaming and sobbing, and falling into a mess of dripped mascara and tear-filled, glimmering eyes, Eliza spoke in a quiet voice. Not quite enough that others would be unable to listen in- her sisters were doing just that- but quiet enough that it unnerved Alexander.

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” She had spat, lower lip shaking in an involuntary pout as her red-rimmed eyes stared him down. “An absolute fuckface.”

Alexander had reached to wipe away one of her tears, to tuck a strand of hair back behind her ear and ask in a gentle voice what had happened- Eliza turned her head away from him. She had no interest in being treated in such a manner.

“I know what happened- I didn’t want to believe it, but here you are acting like nothing happened, and here I am, breaking up with my cheating whore of a boyfriend.” She made no effort to avoid his gaze, and if anything, eye contact must have been her overall goal, to make Alexander’s heart sink even further down in his chest. “I can’t believe you’d do this to me, but you did, and it’s over. Find someone who can actually make you happy. God knows that person isn’t me.”

He had called out her name as she turned to leave, to stalk off and wipe her tears with the kind words of her sisters. A feeble apology had left his mouth, not well thought through- as per usual with Alexander’s spoken words. In that moment, she turned her head- not her full body- and stated two simple words, not in a menacing tone, nor in a spiteful one.

“Fuck you.” With a small twinge of regret lacing her tone, and she turned her full attention forward, clutching tightly to her sisters’s hands, and left him. For good. Eliza had far too much pride to crawl back to a man that had broken her heart and stomped ruthlessly on it before setting it on fire, all the while expecting her not to notice or care.

So it would not be difficult for one to imagine just how much Alexander wanted to scream out as he read over the file. He had been fortunate enough that his current partners understood that it had been a horrible mistake, and one that he would never wish to replicate. But if he was to be spending time with the woman, both at his office and her place of residence?

He wondered how long it would take for John and Lafayette to ask for the wedding ring back. Just for polishing, they’d say, then they would have him sleep on the couch, moving more and more of his things out of the bedroom until they asked for the key back to their apartment and told him that he had until the end of the month to move out.

Alexander bit his lip as he set the case file in his briefcase, making sure to lock it completely before he set it aside- if John or Lafayette saw it, nothing good would come from it. Picking up his phone, he quickly dialed the now-familiar number and held it to his ear as he listened to the mechanical ringing.

“Hello, this is Thomas Jefferson,” Thomas said as he answered the call, his voice well trained in the false politeness of answering a call before checking whom it was from. “Who am I speaking to?”

“I want to take you up on that offer from earlier,” Alexander whispered, just loud enough that Thomas would understand without the need for repeating himself. His words dripped down his body like spilled caramel, despite the intentions behind them being anything but sweet. “Meet me on the corner of Fifth and President’s. Eleven thirty.”

“See you then, darling,” Thomas replied, hanging up almost immediately after he spoke.

Tonight was going to be fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How wrong you all were,  
> With predictions, you see,  
> I'll post some more words,  
> When you comment for me


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this chapter- I find it strange how none of you seemed to remember the summary in your predictions of what was to happen next ;). Don't worry, you'll find out soon enough. In the meantime, enjoy!

The world was not a quiet place.

Anyone that had spent more than a few spare seconds in an abandoned field would know that. It was almost common sense at this point, the loudness of the world, the sheer volume it contained, bursting at the seams with endless verbose potential. And when one found themselves in the midst of a bustling city, on an almost-winter night, noise was unavoidable. One could not stray away from the squealing of taxi tires, nor could they tune out the ever-present buzzing of the streetlights. Footsteps flooded one’s ears, and tracked paths across the universe in their own way, some interconnecting, and others never even passing more than once.

Even the moon was not silent. Instead, she sang a soft tune, a lullaby to her starchildren, one that waned with each low note and crescendo. Her songs embraced the world, covering it like a mother would tuck in a child in at night, pressing a kiss to their forehead and wishing them only the sweetest of dreams. Her place in the sky was cemented, and she allowed any of the people that saw her to bathe in the light she had been lent from the sunshine of the day, a parting gift to humanity. No human would have to go without light, whether it be the gleaming glow of sun, or the iridescent kisses of the moon.

And in moments such as these, when Thomas was so perfectly half-illuminated by the moonlight, and his hair caught glimmers with each coil? He was almost perfect. Were he to be entirely perfect, he would be dancing amongst the night sky which he had so longed to find home in. Alexander knew that Thomas was meant to be more than a bit of dust on the Earth; he was a stray shard of glass from when the night sky shattered and the pieces were picked up, and yet he was left behind.

Thomas’s starlit eyes shot over to Alexander, making sure that the other man was in position, and just for a moment, Alexander allowed his mind to idle over how peculiar this arrangement was. When they worked on a project where they wrote or spoke together, arguments were inevitable, and the office would likely have a betting pool on who finally cracked, and when. But nights like these had no words. There were none to be put to them, anyways.

The way Thomas stepped forward from the darkness was nearly indescribable. Softly glinting in the pale streetlight that barely reached the alleyway, his blade found itself held to a man’s throat, causing him to drop the cigarette he’d been smoking. He hacked up a cough in shock, having evidently breathed in when he had meant to exhale a puff of dark smoke. Although he could not see his attacker, nor could he see Alexander, his eyes darted back and forth, trying to catch a glimpse.

But he dared not fight back.

Not after Thomas’s hushed “You fight back and you never see your loved ones again.”

Leading the way from behind, Thomas led the man to behind a dumpster, the two of them being obscured by it as well as a few stacked wooden crates with orange juice logos painted on them. Thomas moved quickly, removing his knife from the man’s throat and pushing him up against the wall, easily overpowering him. Staring into his eyes coldly, he did his best not to seem apologetic- even though he wasn’t- as that was the look that overtook his face when his emotions were blank. He was always empty. But he wanted to be filled with the coursing lifeblood of others.

Shivering and shaking in fear, the man quickly reached into his back pocket and held up his wallet with a hand that he couldn’t manage to keep steady.

“H-here man, take it, just don’t hurt me…. I have a family,” He stammered, the last part seemingly added as an afterthought as Thomas took one glance at the leather and cackled like a hyena, slapping it out of his hands.

“Oh don’t worry- I don’t want your money,” Thomas assured him in a voice that was anything but reassuring, the underlying tone something unnameable, untraceable. “And I don’t think Alexander wants it, either. Do you, Lexy?”

“I thought we agreed, when this whole thing started, that we wouldn’t let them know our names,” Alexander pointed out as he handed Thomas a small syringe with a clear liquid inside it after stepping out of his place among the shadows. “Judging by his suit, though? Either he’s stingy as fuck, or can’t afford better than a hand me down from his older brother, even at this age.”

“Don’t worry,” Thomas murmured as he lined up the needle with the man’s vein. “It’ll only hurt later.”

 

And when the man awoke, with a pounding headache and sore wrists, he didn’t recognize the building he found himself in. Moonlight flowing through the high windows and onto dusty ground and surrounded by filthy brick walls, he could easily tell that he was in some sort of abandoned warehouse. But where were the strange men that had seemed to rob him, but claimed to want anything but?

“Good morning, darling,” The tall man spoke, behind him- although for how long he’d been there, he was unsure. “Well, it’s only been an hour and a half- you took a little too long to wake up, so we hope that you don’t mind us getting out our toys beforehand. We usually like to surprise our… guests, but in this case we had to set things up. Alexander got impatient, didn’t he?”

 

“Oh shut up,” Alexander spat, walking around the chair they’d strapped the man to and grinning as he inspected his handiwork holding up nicely despite the man’s squirming. “And he has a name, you know. Charles Lee. Good thing your name is stupid enough to match that haircut, huh?”

Charles looked up at Alexander with fear for just a split second, before he took on a front of indifference and cast his gaze aside. “You won’t be getting any information from me, I ain’t no snitch, no matter what your employer wants you to think. Kill me if ya want, but I won’t say a word.”

Alexander shifted his gaze up toward Thomas in confusion, motioning for him to say something, anything at all. Sighing quietly, Thomas crossed his arms across his chest and moved to stand beside Alexander. Carefully looking at the man, he found nothing of notice, aside from a clearly home-inked tattoo on his ankle of a crown.

“You must be confused,” Thomas stated plainly after a few moments, unsure of what path to take in their little conversation that wasn’t much more than pre-game entertainment. No screams for loved ones, or begging to be let go, or offering of sexual favors and a promise to never speak of the incident- just… Stoic, with a hint of a smirk in the corner of Lee’s lips. “We do this for the thrill, not for the cash. Information isn’t what we want, if anything-”

“A gang war,” Charles finished, scowling now. “Of fucking course- well you should know, I only warm his bed. Getting his fucktoy dead in the river won’t do jack shit for your little war. The cops will classify it as a gang thing, but they won’t do jack shit about it. I’ll do in death as I did in life- causing distress to all you shitheads.”

In that next moment, Thomas reached forward and slapped Lee across his face with the back of his hand, a loud sound ringing out and echoing idly through the high ceiling beams. Lee hissed at the sudden contact, trying to reach up and rub his cheek but quickly being reminded by a sharp tug that his arms were restrained.

“Thomas, he’s just fucking with us,” Alexander assured the man, resting a hand on his shoulder that rose and fell with the heavy breaths of restrained anger. “Why don’t I get the gag and you get the small blade and we can carve some words, okay?”

 

“No,” Thomas growled, shaking off Alexander’s hand and taking a step even closer toward the man in the chair. “If the dickwad wants to talk, we’ll let him fucking talk. Last words are important, no?”

 

“Look, just let me go and we won’t have any trouble,” Lee said with a slightly bored tone lacing his voice as he nearly rolled his eyes. “I’ll say I was out sleeping around and King won’t go out and hurt you- trust me, letting one measly mark go is way better than being on King’s black list.”

“And, pray tell, who is King?” Thomas inquired, raising an eyebrow in sick amusement at the man’s obliviousness as to exactly what his fate was to be that night.

“C’mon, I’m not an idiot, and neither are you- you know exactly who he is,” Lee pointed out, smirking for real this time, as though he had just uncovered a rather deep secret from the other man. For a moment, it even seemed as though he forgot as to which of them was currently tied to a chair with sharp tools of death behind him. 

“Humor me,” Thomas suggested, lifting his hands in suggestion as his expression found itself home to a smirk similar to his victim’s. “After all, only two of the people in this room can walk right now.”

“He’s the boss of the GB mob,” Charles stated, as though it were the single most obvious thing in the world at that very moment. “Dumb fucking cops haven’t managed to hold him down to any singular crime. Scot free, every single charge bene dropped since the police haven’t been able to pull their heads outta their asses. Wouldn’t be surprised if the police captain is off getting fucked insteada doing actual work right now- not that we’re complaining, no siree.”

“...I think I wanna have some extra fun tonight, Tommy,” Alexander murmured, glaring down at Lee with a grotesque sort of scowl, almost too unnervingly wide to fit on his mouth as he spoke again. “Go get the electric drill.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me, you can’t actually be seriou…” Charles began, his words only ceasing in their path as soon as he saw Thomas take a handheld drill off the floor and hand it to Alexander, who brushed off the dust before turning it on to test it. The mechanical whirring made Lee’s heart stop and eyes widen, much to the apparent delight of Alexander. “Man, we can work something out, I’ve got plenty of dough. Just put that thing down…”

“Aww, Charlie, don’t worry,” Alexander told him in a mocking tone, taking on an over exaggeratedly kind expression, soft with a smile and wide, innocent eyes that only reflected Lee’s terror. “It only hurts for the first couple of hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you may have been wrong,  
> With what you said in the comments,  
> Please make new ones during the long,   
> long update schedule dents.


	5. Chapter 5

Usually, when Alexander woke up in the mornings, it was surrounded by silent promises. When he first opened his eyes, it was to flutters of kisses, his legs tangled against John or Lafayette’s own. The world was calm, the spinning having ceased if just for a brief little moment, to let Lafayette’s kisses be Alexander’s world, and have the freckles dotting John’s skin be his starlight. Love was laced onto their barely-there words of praise and mumbled assurances that they could have five more minutes, then ten more minutes, all the while accompanied by warm embraces and gazes that were anything but cold toward each other.

Sometimes, he one of his partners had woken early in order to prepare breakfast or make coffee, and sometimes they simply lounged in the sheets, bathing in the warmth of sunlight that streamed through their open windows. With each easy rise and fall of their chests in steady breaths, they would twirl strands of each other’s hair. Whether it be Alexander’s flat locks, or John’s caramel-tinted curls or the coarse coils of Lafayette’s mane, one of them would leave the bed with small little half-braids in their hair. Often enough, tired little half-smiles accompanied them.

This morning, however, was different. Instead of wrapped up in the affection of his partners, Alexander woke to an aching back from the lack of support in the sofa he’d spent the night on. No warmth, not even from the thin blanket they kept on the sofa simply for aesthetic, was to be found in his awakeness. Idly, he entertained the idea of retreating back to their bedroom, pressing his face against Lafayette’s chest as John cuddled up against his back and pressed small kisses to the back of his neck. The softness, the welcoming scent that was something undeniably home, the sense of purpose that filled his heart with every passing second- none of it was something Alexander would be able to receive that morning.

Late last night, Alexander had stumbled home in new clothes, ones he’d set aside for after the main event of the evening. His head was still swarming with the high he got from the release of a life, and he giggled softly at the sight of crimson anything as soon as he left the warehouse and disposed of the body. It was almost a miracle he’d even gotten home by himself. After fumbling for nearly five minutes to lock the door, he’d headed to the bedroom, hoping to fall asleep as amazingly as his night had gone. However, once he arrived at the door and reached out, trying to turn the knob, he realized that the door was locked. 

Why was it locked? They never locked the bedroom, especially if one of them had left earlier with no explanation. In fact, when John had forgotten to text Lafayette and say that he was going to be staying the night at the office, the frenchman had nearly had a panic attack in fear for the other man, and Alexander spent the entire night consoling him. To say that it was abnormal for the knob to refuse to turn entirely would be an understatement.

Alas, Alexander’s tired and adrenaline-filled mind had no time for exploring and evaluating the depths of his relationship at that time. In fact, the most he could manage to keep in his mind was that he wanted and needed cuddles with his two favorite people in the world. So, he leaned up against the door and sat down, closing his eyes- just to rest them, he told himself. And soon enough, his consciousness had slipped away from him, leaving him in an exhausted heap on the carpet, leaning against the wooden door.

So why was he here? 

Alexander had never been a victim of sleepwalking in his life, and he most certainly had not been the one to cover himself with the couch blanket. As if he has asked the question aloud, his answer was quickly appearing in front of him in the form of a glance of Lafayette through the archway that led to their kitchen. The smell of pancakes flooded his mind like clear fog, and he hummed softly in content, the sound causing Lafayette to turn his head and gain an indecipherable expression on his face.

Where’s the early morning smile? Alexander wanted to ask, brow furrowing as he attempted to figure out exactly what was going on in his apartment that refused to allow him to call it a home at that particular moment. Where were the small kisses and quiet whispers and loving looks out of the corner of his eyes? Somewhere, Alexander’s tired mind decided, still groggy from sleep. All those wonderful little things had gone away to Somewhere, the sort of place where one’s pencil goes when they are absolutely sure they tucked it behind their ear but it isn’t there. The kind of place where lost bobby pins go, and a hair tie that isn’t around your wrist travels off to. A place where if one tries, or distinctly does not make any effort at all, they have a chance of reclaiming what has been taken from them by the cruel clutches of the universe.

Yawning quietly, Alexander sat up and rubbed his eyes, trying to clear up his vision before being able to put in his contacts- had he remembered to take them out last night? The stinging from his face told him that no, he had not- idiot. Well, at least that explained the slight burning sensation from behind his eyes. Standing and shrugging off the blanket, he ran to the bathroom to remove the pieces of plastic that helped him see, only to run right into none other than John Laurens. 

Now, running into someone can mean a multitude of things, but there are two main explanations of the phrase. The first one being that one did not mean to see the other person, but in fact did. Such an occurrence did happen in that moment, but so did the other meaning of the expression. That being that the two collided, and fell to the ground, causing John to drop his comb and watch as it clattered off to below the sink. However, he made no move to reach for it, to retrieve it and finish smoothing out his nearly unmanageable hair.

“John!” Alexander exclaimed as he scrambled to stand up and extended his hand out to help John up as well. “I’m so sorry, I can barely see since I left my contacts in and fuck, are you okay?”

John scowled at Alexander and stood up on his own, ignoring the offered help. “I’m fine, although maybe knocking next time would be better,” He spat, refusing to make eye contact with the other man. “You can wear your glasses for a little while, use the hall mirror to take out your contacts.”

“I need to wash my hands if I want to touch my eyes-” Alexander tried to point out, but was cut off by his husband’s words. 

“Then wash them in the kitchen sink. I need to get ready for the day, and I can’t do what I need to do outside of the bathroom, while you can,” John pointed out, voice anything but loving, a Alexander was not accustomed to at such hours of the morning.

Sighing softly in defeat and not a small bit of confusion, Alexander grabbed his contact solution and contacts and walked out of the bathroom, flinching at just how loudly John slammed the door behind him. Trudging out into the kitchen, he passed Lafayette and washed his hands, using the ridiculous hand soap from France that made Lafayette so happy. He moved aside to the kitchen mirror and took out his old contacts, putting in the new ones, and was about to throw the wrappers away when he heard Lafayette clear his throat behind him.

“Sorry Laf, you can use the mirror now,” Alexander apologized, moving aside and opening the trash can and tossing the plastic into it. “John’s in the bathroom right now and I forgot to take out my contacts when I got home last night, so I needed to do that now. What’s for breakfast?”

“...So you are not even going to be admitting what you did? Apologizing for it? You aren’t going to drop to your knees and beg and plead for our forgiveness?” Lafayette asked, incredulous as he stepped toward a now very confused Alexander and narrowed his eyes. “We give you the time to make things right, and all you do is run off last night to do god only know what! Or should I say, who?”

“Lafayette, what in the world are you talking about?” Alexander questioned, turning around without having understood a single word that Lafayette had told him; as far as he knew, there had been nothing to apologize for. Nothing that they knew of, at the very least. “I wasn’t with anyone, I went back to the office because I left some work there and ended up losing track of time. I would have told you, but the bedroom door was locked when I got home!”

“Of course it was!” Lafayette countered, tears now forming in his eyes. “We didn’t want you in there, not after what you did! You’ve been calling him, spending so much time with him- we heard you on the phone last night, you know. The walls aren’t very soundproof, and the vents carry every sound; we heard every fucking word. We had suspected, and knew you often called an unnamed number, but… To arrange an affair with your husbands in the room next to you? That is near unforgivable.”

“Love-”

“You lost the right to call me that when you fucked him on our anniversary,” Lafayette cut him off, tone cold as dry ice. “John already knows- he was the one to tell me. You made my John Laurens sob and cry as he told me something that would put me in a similar state, and seem to have no regrets as to your actions! Once a cheater, always a cheater, no? I should have listened to those Schuyler girls, heeded their warning all those years ago- but no, I was stupid and happy and so fucking in love that I was blind to the undeniable.”

“...Lafayette, I haven’t been cheating on you,” Alexander stated, clear as crystal and voice as steady as he could make it, to let know Lafayette know that his words were the truth. Physically cheating? Of course not, it’s not like Jefferson would take him into those strong arms of his and kiss him senseless- Jefferson was too controlled for that. Emotionally, however… Ending lives was something that filled a gap where he hadn’t known his heart had been empty. And if Thomas helped that gap be filled, he would never say it out loud. “I swear on my life that I have never warmed Jefferson’s bed, and never will- he’s an asshole, you know how I feel about him. I’d never sleep with him, much less on a regular basis.”

“...I never said it was with Jefferson,” Lafayette whispered, his heartbreak seeping through the tone and falling to the ground around him as shards of glass from the cup he dropped. The broken pieces created a decrescendo of twinkling, like the stars that suddenly disappeared from Lafayette’s eyes, easily replaced with tears. “I never said it was with Jefferson, but you did, and… You really are, huh?”

“No!” Alexander was quick to reply, eyes wide as he realized what he’d just told Lafayette and consequently admitted to despite having not done anything. “I-I just thought you knew because I was calling him last night! We were talking about helping each other with our cases, since I was switched on cases and so was he and I only have a week until the court date, and-”

“You never accept help, Alexander,” Lafayette interjected, scowling and trying to wipe away his tears before they had a chance to cascade down his dark cheeks. “Especially from Jefferson, of all people- you’ve told us so many time just how much you hate the man, wouldn’t save his life if it was an easy task. Get out- go to work, go to a friend’s house, go get wasted and be found in a ditch tomorrow morning without a shirt on. I really just don’t give a fuck what you do, so long as by the end, you’re gone. We need time to think about if we still want you.”

“Laf, I…” Alexander whispered brokenly, trying to supply his lover with an explanation that wouldn’t get him locked up for life.

“Out. Unless you have something to say for yourself that isn’t bulshit?”

And for what seemed like the first time since his birth, Alexander Hamilton had absolutely nothing to say. So with the shameful hanging of his head, and a pivot of his feet, wrapping his arms around his chest to contain a desperate sob, he left the apartment that was home to his partners- just not him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More lalams you see,  
> Is what this chapter brings,  
> So comment for me,  
> And get a Christmas thing ;)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING!!!! This chapter has heavy allusions to drugs, especially c///ocaine. Please don't read the 'three things he noticed', or this chapter, if it could negatively affect you. Stay safe, and enjoy!

“Where is Charles!?” King asked, his voice shrill and demanding as he burst into the room, nearly shaking with anger. “He was supposed to be here four hours ago, and I have yet to see a glimpse of him!”

The shocked and terrified assistants looked up at King with wide eyes, none of them brave enough to speak until one man took in a deep breath and stood at attention, hands tucked behind his back. His hair was slightly frizzed from the day’s humidity, and glasses halfway fogged from having just been staring down into his steaming coffee cup.

“Mr.Lee has not called us as of yet,” The man answered timidly, wiping off his glasses with shaking hands as he did his best not to make eye contact with his boss. “If you so desire, I could arrange for someone to stop by his place of residence and check and see if he’s-”

“I’ll be making the decisions here, thank you very much,” King spat, turning to the frightened young woman beside him and talking quickly. “Send someone to Charles’s home, see if he’s hungover or thought it wouldn’t be inconveniencing me to miss out on the planning of one of our biggest deals.”

The man that had previously been so bold as to stand before his boss simply bit his lip in frustration at the dismissal and made a move to sit back down into his ratty chair before King’s voice rang out once more.  
“And who, exactly, are you?” King asked, his voice slightly amused in its own bothered way. “If you were so foolish as to stand before me and act as though you knew better than I did, I wish to at the very least know the name of the man losing his job this fine day.”

“...Seabury…” He replied quietly, spitefully, as he decided that sitting down at this very moment would indeed be a rather horrid idea. “My name is Samuel Seabury. I apologize for any trouble my words may have-”

“And your job?” King pressed, crossing his arms as he asked, raising his eyebrows as he waited for a response. “I must know what place requires training for once more- this is all a very smooth operation, you know.”

“My job is to arrange meetups, and assist in cancellations as well as taking calls from our lower-level dealers-”

“So a secretary?” King interjected, scowling bemusedly. “I’m firing a glorified secretary? Do tell, why aren’t you wearing one of those low-cut tops that secretaries are so fond of? I’m sure I could have it arranged if it’s simply due to a lack of proper funds- I make sure to pay my workers very well, but I might need to reevaluate the payments given out, hm?”

“I am not some sort of object for you to gawk at,” Seabury growled, tightly balling his hands up into fists to hold back his anger at the man that could possibly just be three petulant children in a trenchcoat. “And I feel as though you treating me as such will only lead to disastrous consequences.”

“...Meet me in my office,” King said, less of a suggestion and almost entirely a solid statement for the other man to follow. An instruction, not a gentle push in the right direction- though anyone that ended up around these parts of the world weren’t exactly close to the ‘right path’. Always having time to turn back to good is just for the bullshit on middle school lunchroom posters; no one here had the will for much of anything more than what King had to offer for them. “And make it quick, secretary.”

Grumbling softly under his breath, Seabury allowed the man to lead him through the labyrinth of hallways in the building, and into the room he called his ‘office’. And upon entering the room, Seabury immediately noticed three things which were not typical of one’s boss’s office.

The first was that there were strange bags stored in every nook and cranny of the room. Under the legs of the desk, beside and on top of the file cabinet, which was itself filled with the bags as well, and he even spotted a few hanging from the ceiling fan. Although, considering the circumstances he’d fallen into in order to get this job, he supposed that he shouldn’t have been nearly this surprised. Hell, he’d seen much more before, during a particularly memorable trade with a rather wealthy, careless businessman- some sort of stockbroker or the like.

The second thing that Seabury found to be peculiar about the room was how each paper was in stacks on the floor- the file cabinet was otherwise occupied. Each stack was of a different subject, though which ones, Seabury didn’t know. It seemed as though they were carelessly piled upon each other instead of crumpled up, and he would swear that he had seen the ones on the bottom of the piles beginning to yellow with age.

However, it was the third thing in the room that truly surprised him; after all, it was not actually thing. Sitting atop King’s desk, legs spread and cock hanging out of his pants, hard with want, was a shirtless man whose hair curled out behind him, only restricted in its flow by the gag tied round his face. The man yelped in shock and surprise as the two men entered the room, and quickly pulled his dick back into his jeans, avoiding eye contact and trying his best to avoid eye contact as he untied the gag and set it aside. Murmuring a quiet apology, he kneeled on the floor, sorting through stray papers for his shirt.

“Pay no attention to him,” King instructed Seabury dismissively, with a wave of his hand as he walked around his desk, stomping down on the man’s hand, and sat in his chair, leaning back. “He’s still learning, and seems to have forgotten to have left out the signal for me- tell the nice secretary that you’re sorry, sweet love.”

“M’sorry…” The man murmured, finally locating his shirt and tugging it over his head, shaking out his hair and quickly standing, rushing out of the room with bright red cheeks despite the darkness of his skin.

“As I said, he’s still learning- I thought Charles would appreciate another partner, and today was meant to be surprised with the one you just saw,” King explained, sighing in disappointment and rolling his eyes at the disinterest that was apparent. “But let’s get back to business- do you know why I brought you in here?”

“To shoot me?” Seabury whispered, hanging his head and staring intently at the paper-covered carpet, reading a few lines of legal jargon that he made little effort to understand. “I know my disobedience was uncalled for, and I cannot blame you for any repercussions of my insubordination. Please make it quick.”

King stared at Samuel with indifference for a few moments, before bursting into a fit of laughter, verging on cackles of a hyena. He leaned back in his chair, gripping the desk so tightly that his knuckles began to turn white. Mad laughter filled the room, echoing and bouncing off every little corner, and King’s eyes were not closed as laughter so often caused them to be, but were instead wide open, gazing at Seabury with insanity in his eyes. 

“I’m not going to kill you!” King exclaimed, grinning widely- with malice or amazement at his stupidity, Samuel was not sure. “I’m going to demote you! From this day forth, you shall be in charge of the well being of my lovers- the new one as well as my dear Charles. Tend to their every need- and I mean every. Single. Need.”  
“Yes sir,” Seabury replied, still looking downward and sighing in relief that even though he would be reserved to glorified babysitting, he wouldn’t meet his end in a glorified cocaine storage block. “Is there anything else I can do for you before I head back to my desk and find Charles’s out whereabouts?”

“Yes, actually,” King stated, still grinning, although the laughter had been reduced to occasional snickers in Seabury’s direction. “Send that fine young piece of ass back in here.”

Nodding curtly, Seabury hurried out of the room and nearly ran right into the man from earlier, who was still blushing profusely and had begun texting someone just as Samuel had opened the door.

“S-sorry…” The man stuttered, stepping closer to the wall in order to allow Seabury to walk past. “And I’m sorry you had to see me like that. It was, ah… I was instructed to pose such a way upon King’s departure from the room- I would not have followed directions, had I known that he would be returning with another person.”

“No harm done,” Seabury assured him, walking past the man before turning his head back. “And he wants you back in the room. Goodbye… What’s your name?”

“You may call me… Kitten. It’s what he always calls me, so I suppose it should be of no trouble for that to be my alias with others. Goodbye.”

And just like that, ‘Kitten’ disappeared into the office, shutting and locking the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kittens go meow,  
> As they are wont to do,  
> Comments later or now,  
> Would make me happy, too


	7. Chapter 7

No one ever speaks of how beautiful an all-encompassing kind of silence can be. Sure, there is much to be spoken about when one has stumbled upon the topic of music, but even then, silence brings the most intense moments, even in the most brilliant of orchestrations.

In so many songs, the singer drones on about each and every detail of the story they are trying to tell- sometimes well-executed, and other times in utter defeat of music theory. The guitar riffs, plucky and decisive, or the waterfall-flow of piano keys, or the low, tired hum of bass guitar, or even the hundreds of billions of variants on voice can be added to a song, caressing the listener in a sort of cacophony of harmonic noise. 

But the silent parts? Those little breaths in between lyrics, the slight pause after a guitar solo, those spaces in heavy, blasting quarter notes near the very ending of a song, when emphasis is ever so important. In those parts, they would simply be irritating with volume on their own. However, if one is wise enough to add silence to their arrangement, it can become something all too wonderful.

So why did Alexander hate this sense of quiet? The aura of tense, false calm filled the room like stifling heat on a humid summer day, his eyes almost watering with the sting from his computer screen at this late hour, when the office lights had been shut off automatically to save power. He vaguely remembered something about the fluorescent lights being too strong for most people’s eyes, causing soreness and potential eyesight problems, though he couldn’t quite remember from whom he’d learned such a fact.

He sat in his office, at his scratched desk on his ratty chair, and did his best to focus on the fact that Ms.Reynolds was a client to him now, not the woman he’d had an affair with. However, whenever he made an effort to fill the silence with his own thoughts and memories, all he could imagine were her moans. Her little breaths whenever she was about to arch her back again, the sound of her curls against the leather of the couch, the scratch of her nails on his back, leaving little tracks of red. Her eyes had been wide and wild, but her smile remained agape, allowing her to create the sounds that so plagued him in these late hours.

“Hamilton?” Washington called out tentatively as he creaked open the door and sighed at the sight of the man before him. Alexander’s hair had frizzed out of its tie, and now framed his face, slick with sweat from so obviously overworking himself. Tendrils of the hair hand around his face as he sat hunched over the desk, staring intently at his laptop. Almost as if he couldn’t even hear Washington’s words, and hadn’t noticed him entering the room. “Son?”

“Not your son…” Alexander murmured in response, still refusing to make eye contact with the other man, too focused on his work at the moment to do much more than make his eyes water with artificial lighting of his screen. He tucked a lock of hair behind his ear, wiped off the residual wetness on his pants, and continued typing with a sort of fervor that was distinctly Hamilton.

“Nevertheless, I’m afraid that it’s time for you to go home, Alexander,” Washington stated, a sort of pitying tone clouding his words and choking him in a mist of misdirected empathy. “You can’t work in this condition, and I’m sending you home. Spend the day with your family, sleep, go grocery shopping, just don’t work for once.”

“I can work for longer, I’ll make sure the building is locked up when I leave, sir,” Alexander replied, still typing with a speed that verged on inhuman. “I’ve done it before. And with all due respect, I know what time I’ll need to sleep in order to get a fair amount of energy for tomorrow morning.”

Washington sighed, rubbing his temples in frustration as he trudged over to the far end of Hamilton’s office and pulled the cord on his tightly closed blinds. Sunlight shot in through the window, ricocheting on the floor and walls, flooding the room with brightness so intense that Hamilton was forced to shut his eyes tightly and rub them in order to soothe the pain caused by the unexpected increase in lighting in his office.

“It’s not night anymore, Hamilton- the sun has risen, and you have stayed awake the whole night, it seems,” Washington pointed out as he stared down at Alexander impatiently, expecting the younger man to stand up and ask a few questions before immediately leaving to his home and lovely spouses. “Go home. I’m sure that Lafayette and Laurens miss you dearly, and you probably didn’t think to call- imagine how worried they are for you. Please, let them know you’re alright.”

“It’s not like they would care…” Alexander murmured, squinting his eyes open and turning up the brightness on his laptop before going right back to typing down the forms and notes he’d need, glancing over at his open file of information on the case. In that split second, when his hands were pulled away from the keyboard, Washington snapped down the top of the computer, scowling in displeasure at the man before him.

“I said: Go. Home. If you so much as say another word against my decision, I will not hesitate to have you written up for insubordination. Besides, it’s Saturday- you shouldn’t be here on the weekend, and I’m only here to make sure all the AC and lights were properly turned off last night, then I have to take the kids to the park,” Washington informed him, sighing quietly once he was finished with his mini-monologue. “...Just… Take care of yourself, okay? I can’t have my best lawyer in such an abysmal state.”

“You shouldn’t have your best lawyer working on mere cases of spousal dispute,” Alexander retorted, beginning to take notes in his spiral notebook, the one with the green cover. “And yet here I am, and here you are, so we really have no choice other than to let each other do their fucking job, sir.”

“I reassigned you because it was what was proper,” Washington explained tiredly, entirely unprepared to have this conversation with the man that had singlehandedly won the award for debate in college. “And I’m sure that your co-workers would agree since-”

“Since you’re fucking Burr?” Alexander finished, those words not being what Washington’s own would have been, but judging by the wide-eyed look on his face, he assumed that he’d been correct. So he did what he did best, and kept talking. “I mean, it’s fairly obvious to anyone who knows anything about either of you, or this office. He’s always being pulled into your office and not leaving until about an hour or so later. Hell, I even remember two weeks ago, when I walked into your room a few minutes after Burr, and you were sitting at your desk and holding onto it so tightly that your knuckled were almost turning white. Care to explain?”

“I- this not- you can’t-” Washington stammered, obviously flustered and making a feeble attempt to cover up what had actually been happening; what Alexander had been so quick to pick up on. “He’s not- we aren’t- I’m married to Martha!”

“Doesn’t stop you from being a raging homosexu-”

“Don’t you dare finish that fucking word!” Washington screamed, cutting him off with a sort of desperate fury that was so rarely found in people when talking about their lovers. It took him a brief second to realize that he’d been panting heavily at the intensity of being discovered, and he tried his best to even out his breathing, and although it barely worked, he continued speaking in a low, threatening tone. “If you tell anyone about this- a friend, my wife, a co-worker, even Burr- I will make sure you never work in this town again. You are going to leave this office, and you are going to take today, as well as the rest of next week off on paid leave. We will never speak of this incident again, and you lose your job if you so much as think of informing any sort of higher power. Leave, Alexander.”

Eyes wide with fear at the sight of Washington- typically such a calm man- so utterly furious in front of him, Alexander unplugged his laptop, shoved the computer and cord into his bag, and left the building just as quickly as he’d been typing just moments earlier.

Alexander didn’t know exactly where he was headed, but knew for sure that whereever it was, it needed to be loud. The loudest a place could be, that’s what he needed. A symphony of indecipherable noise, louder than the squealing rails of the subway, more intense than a street parade, and more whole-mind encompassing than being held underwater.

So it only made sense that he ended up at the door to Thomas Jefferson’s apartment.

Knocking quickly with precise yet shaking hands, Alexander waited patiently in front of the door to Thomas’s townhouse, still not yet used to the light of day after having been cooped up in his office the entire night. He had barely been able to make it up the steps, and now, as he stood at the door of a man he pretended to hate by day, and by night killed with, he realized that this was probably a horrible idea oh god he should go home right now what part of him had actually thought that-

“I don’t want any fucking Girl Scout- Alexander?” Thomas began, then looked down at the exhausted man, eyes narrowed and brow furrowed with sudden confusion as he kept one hand on the inside door handle. “What are you doing here- and why are you so… Filthy?”

“Worked the whole night,” Alexander murmured, focusing on the ground below him, determined not to let Thomas see his red-rimmed eyes from the burn of low lighting the entire night. “Washington sent me home but m’husbands don’t want me home because they think m’cheating on them with you, and being here won’t help at all but you’re the only person I know who can help and-”

“Shh, darling, let’s get you inside, then we can talk this out, okay?” Thomas suggested, leading Alexander inside and shutting the front door behind him. Grabbing a towel from the hall closet, he pushed it into Alexander’s hands and spoke again, in a calm, quiet voice. “The shower is upstairs, third door to the left. All the towels in there are decorative only, so don’t use them.”

Alexander repressed a murmur of ‘rich fuck’ and nodded in thanks, turning and trudging up the stairs and into the bathroom, third door to the right. But this wasn’t the bedroom.

Instead, Alexander found himself in Thomas’s home office, and despite his better judgement, took a step forward quietly, hoping that Thomas wouldn’t notice him not turning on the water yet. Looking around, he saw more than a few pictures of Thomas’s extended family, probably from family reunions throughout the years. On his desk was a small stuffed rabbit, like a plush toy for five-year-olds. Snickering softly, Alexander patted it on its soft little ears and looked again at the desk, holding back a small gasp at the picture frame on his desk.

Sitting there, in a small glass frame, was a picture of Alexander himself, his hair tucked back neatly as he stood proudly in front of the office building. The picture seemed a few years old at the very least, and it took him a few seconds to realize that Thomas had taken the photo for him on their first day. Before their killings, before he was public about his relationship, before he and Thomas had even realized how their personalities clashes. Thomas must have kept his own copy of the photo.

His face blushing a vibrant shade of scarlet, Alexander quickly walked away from the desk and out of the office, shutting the door behind him and heading into the bathroom. The decorative towels were embroidered with Thomas’s initials (of course they were, the rich fuckface), and he made a point to wipe his face on them as soon as he was sure he’d locked the door behind him. 

Turning on the water and stepping in as soon as he’d stripped off his clothes, he shivered in the still-cold water and reached forward for the shampoo, teeth chattering. Picking up the bottle, he frowned at the ridiculously-names brand, one he’d never even heard of, but was sure of it being overpriced. He poured some into his hands and quickly washed out his hair, not bothering to even glance at the conditioner- he didn’t want his hair to fucking glow like Thomas’s did in the sunlight.

Soon enough he was done (and he hadn’t cared enough to inspect the bruises on his torso and legs) and stepped out, once again wiping his face off on the fancy towels that he had been indirectly told not to mess with. Like Thomas would have expected anything else. Once he was fully dressed, and his hair was at least a little bit dry, he headed downstairs and sat down next to Thomas on the ridiculously luxuriously sofa.

“Thank you for letting me shower…” Alexander murmured as he kept his eyes focused down, trying not to think about the picture frame on Thomas’s desk. “I really appreciate it.”

“You would have done the same for me.” No he wouldn’t. His husbands wouldn’t let him, even though they had their friends over so often that Alexander never really had notice before they came over. But he never complained- especially not in emergencies. Which, he idly supposed, was what Thomas had classified this as.

“I would have gone home, I swear-” Alexander tried to explain, but was instantly cut off by Thomas’s voice, still as gentle and sweet as earlier- a stark contrast to the beautiful coldness of only a few nights ago.

“I understand, it’s okay. Going home isn’t always the easiest or best choice,” Thomas told him, smiling softly and resting a hand on his shoulder. Not leaning forward to whisper something condescending, or spit in his face insultingly as had happened on one memorable occasion when Alexander had been trying to get a debt plan through. “And you did your best to explain it. I think I got the gist- you wanna sleep? You said that you spent the whole night up working, and you might be on a caffeine high, but you’ll crash soon enough, and I want you to do it in the guest bedroom instead of onto the floor.”

“...Why are you being so nice to me?” Alexander asked quietly, cautiously. He was well aware that one wrong word could get him thrown out, and he wasn’t about to risk that. Not when he had barely anywhere to go except a park bench or back to the office (where he’d be subsequently fired). 

“I… No one else is here?” Thomas tried explaining, frowning at the confusion written all over Alexander’s face. “...When no one else is here, I… I don’t need to seem like I hate you. It’s all an act, so that no one knows we’re working together, wouldn’t suspect us. But I wouldn’t do all that shit with you unless I liked you at least a little bit. C’mon, you knew that, right?... Right?”

Alexander’s sudden silence was all the answer that Thomas needed.

“....O-oh…” He whispered, averting his gaze, just as Alexander had been doing for the entirety of their conversation. “I don’t hate you. Promise. Just wanted to keep you safe, you know. Don’t really know what I’d do if you were gone, actually. Office would be too quiet, with Burr’s opinionless bitching being the only mildly entertaining thing left. Swear to god, he needs to get laid, all that pent up sexual tension is so fucking obvious.”

Alexander nodded slightly in agreement, and rested his head on Thomas’s shoulder, unsure of if it was a good idea until Thomas leaned against the touch, humming softly in content at the warmth.

“You don’t have to talk, I understand that you’re probably tired from all this, especially what happened with your partners. Can’t blame you, I barely knew how to handle the one boyfriend I had a few months ago, not sure how you handle two,” Thomas commented, taking in a deep breath and letting it go. “But you’re brilliant and know how to handle everything except the firm’s expenses. I swear, if you weren’t in such a bad state of mind, I’d tear into you about it, but consider yourself lu- Alex?”

Alexander’s quiet snoring filled the living room, and Thomas sighed softly, standing up and heading to the same closet from earlier, grabbing a fluffy little blanket and tucking it around Alexander’s shoulders and body. He looked so small in that moment. His eyes were shut, wet hair framing his face in a sweet little frame, and Thomas could have sworn that he was smiling, if only he’d ever been able to see a smile on the man’s face that didn’t come from his displeasure or at the end of a person’s life. But this was good enough, he figured. Alexander would wake up in the afternoon later today, anyways; maybe he could get him to smile then, for real.

In the afternoon, they’d talk more, and Thomas would remind him that he’d come here of his own accord- and that he’d most definitely had the blanket before falling asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

So maybe this wasn’t how Alexander usually woke up. His legs were tangled in a soft blanket, and as he sat up the sofa beneath him creaked softly. Looking down, he did not find the smooth yet cracked leather of his couch, but instead the thick velvet that was typically reserved for wealthy women’s dresses at the Met Gala. He idly ran his fingertips along it, sighing contentedly at the luxuriousness of the wine-red material.

Lafayette must have gotten this for their anniversary, Alexander told himself, laying back down and pulling the fluffy blanket back around himself, humming at the warmth it brought. Yes, that made perfect sense, of course this was a gift from Lafayette. The frenchman had always had a taste for the finer things in life, and more than enough means to live such a way. Despite that, he was aware of the discomfort it brought Alexander as well as John (although to a milder degree) and almost always resorted to window shopping when a particularly lovely something happened to catch his eye. 

But for their anniversary gift? This was absolutely perfect. Stretching out his legs slightly, he let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding in- the sofa was large enough for him to lay down fully, without his head even resting on the arm, nor his feet doing such a thing. The softness of the fabric was simply a major plus. He made a mental note to thank Lafayette again for the gift, but first, he was aware that he would have to make it to the bedroom- why hadn’t he spent the night in their bedroom, with his husbands? Sure, John and Lafayette’s aftercare was different than his, and he typically spent his time afterwards making up the couch or the three of them to watch Project Runway or one of their favorite movies. But last night had been their anniversary celebration…. So why couldn’t he remember any part of it? It could have been the alcohol, but if he had been drinking last night, then he would have a hangover- which he most surely did not, if the lack of a pounding head was enough of a clue.

Eyes still crusty and clouded from sleep, he rubbed them, and upon pulling his hands away from his face, realized that more had happened than simply receiving a nice sofa for their home from his lover. And in that small little fragment of a moment, his memories flooded back to him, bursting through a mental dam he hadn’t even been aware that he’d built himself.

Working through the night flashed behind his mind, and the lack of texts or calls from his partners hit him in the face like a rather sharp stone. Washington forcing Alexander to leave as soon as the younger man dropped Burr’s name, and the overwhelming silence that could only be filled with the pulsing of a shower that couldn’t have been his own. Lafayette’s tear-filled eyes as he kicked Alexander out of their home only a few nights before was added to the mix before he could even fully comprehend the strong scent of rose conditioner- his was always lavender, why did it smell like roses- oh. He was at Jefferson’s house.

Suddenly, the plush sofa beneath his legs and the overly comforting blanket around his shoulders made all too much sense, and he kicked off the sheet of warmth, narrowing his eyes as if his life becoming such a mess was entirely Thomas’s blanket’s fault. Thomas hadn’t been the one to cause this, though. If anything, Thomas had been what he needed to make the mess of words stop plaguing his mind as it so often did. Warm touch and gentle, evenly paced breaths led him out of whatever mess his mind had found itself in, and maybe that’s what had calmed his rapidly beating heart just enough to drift off to sleep in the late morning hour it had been.

Thomas wasn’t that kind of man to Alexander, though.

He couldn’t be.

Thomas wasn’t his excuse for cuddles and soft kisses; that wasn’t who he was. Thomas Jefferson was the sharp slice of a knife, cutting through flesh and air with a satisfying little sound. Thomas Jefferson was the first person on a dance floor at midnight in a crowded nightclub. Thomas Jefferson was so filthy rich that it stunk. Thomas Jefferson was everyone’s worst fear- tall, dark, and handsome, with a sort of smile that made the sun jealous at how brightly it shone. 

Not that Alexander would ever admit to that being how he thought of the man.

His Thomas was not the sweet man, with gentle hands and gentle voice; that was the Thomas of last night. That was simply a man concerned for the well-being of his partner in crime. Real Thomas? Alexander’s Thomas? That was a man whose presence filled the entire dark alley they would hide in, lying in wait. His Thomas was the one whose stars had fallen out of his eyes and shattered off into shards of glass crunching beneath bare feet. That was Thomas Jefferson through Alexander’s eyes, a filter that saw past the bullshit put up for all the normal people. The people whose happiness came from whatever joy they found. Not the half-joys of a drunken night, or sex, or soft kisses and cuddles in the middle of the night that made one’s heart soar.

He wanted his heart to stop in its place. Not soar. And that was only something Thomas could help him find. His Thomas. No one else.

So maybe that’s why Alexander sat up again, setting his feet down on the plush carpeting below him- of course it was soft, the bastard. Just another excuse for him to want to stay. There were so many excuses to stay. He could pretend to fall asleep again, or truly fall back beneath the grip of slumber. Or maybe he’d fall on purpose and hit his leg on the coffee table, causing Thomas to get the first aid kit and order him not to walk for a few moments. Thomas’s skin would be on his, sending those jolts of electricity down his spine, rippling like a pool of still water that had been stepped in with well-worn combat boots. The gorgeous contrast of dark mocha skin against his tan shade, laced with the slow drip of crimson from his ‘fall’. The very idea was enough the he almost made a move to stand and lift his leg not-quite-enough to get his foot caught on the edge. 

Almost.

Instead, Alexander sighed softly and stood, carefully stepping past the coffee table. If he left now, he thought as he grabbed his briefcase by the handle, he might be able to sneak out before Thomas even noticed that he was gone-

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Thomas teased, leaning against the doorway, his tone flat as usual when they were alone, and yet it was… Different, in a sort of way that Alexander couldn’t quite put words to. “Well, it’s actually eight thirty at night, I made dinner if you still can’t come home to your husbands for whatever it was earlier.”

“I…” Alexander began, biting his lower lip sharply enough to draw blood, the metallic taste dribbling into his mouth. He knew that if he said no, Thomas’s voice would lose that little hint of unnameable something, and they would instead be reduced to not speaking kindly until their next collision of comet-like cruelty. But if he accepted? The world would be warmer, fuzzy and fading around the edges of his vision and something new. That little unknown something in Thomas’s voice would be something he was allowed to know, something he might even become accustomed to. He could almost see it- Thomas’s starlit voice twirling through the night sky as they walked through the streets, not on a hunt, just… Together. But that’s not what Alexander needed, now was it? The blood filling his mouth only made his heart pound in his chest, and he needed that sensation at least weekly, on those nights when smog filled the world and nothing more. And that was only something that His Thomas could give him.

And a gentle, kind, sweet… loving Thomas? A Thomas that took him out to watch the stars in their eyes, their chests rising and falling calmly with the comets twinkling across the atmosphere? With little movements and twitches that made Alexander want to lean in and kiss him even more than he already did at almost every passing moment?

That was not the one he needed.

So as Alexander answered with a curt, “I need to go out right now, thank you for letting me stay,” he tightened his grip on the handle of the briefcase, biting his lip again despite the blood, and headed toward the front door, eyes focused on the handle.

“Wait, Alex!” Thomas called out, running after him and setting a hand on his shoulder, holding him back from crossing the threshold of his home. He turned the other man around, looking at him with a sheepish little smile and kind eyes. “You’re probably hungry, you didn’t say if you’d had anything to eat. You should stay. Eat dinner with me, I’d be happy to make up the guest bedroom for you?”

Alexander looked up at Thomas with a cold, indifferent gaze, the very same one he’d taken while waiting in the depths of the shadows for Thomas to make his first move of the evening. The same look that he took on in those split seconds right before he had a burst of ideas that would end a horrendous case of writer’s block. The same face that held no emotion, to hide any semblance of falsified feelings.

“I don’t think that’s something I’d be interested in. Goodnight, Jefferson,” Alexander spoke quietly, precisely, his words sharp as the knives Thomas kept locked up in his office safe. 

And just like that, Alexander opened the door and stepped through it, walking off into the night, surrounded by the low buzzing of streetlights.

And Thomas was alone.


	9. Chapter 9

“I’m here to report a missing person,” Samuel stated as he strode up to the desk of the police office. His face was cold as steel, although beneath that mask was a contortion of anger and newly-found resentment. “His name is Charles Lee, and he went missing about three days ago. Our friends and I have tried contacting him, gone to him home- nothing. His car’s still there, and we used the spare key and he still has food in the fridge.”

“Charles Lee?” The receptionist repeated, seeming bored as though she were simply watching a bad movie while on a bad first date, instead of discussing the matter of someone potentially laying hurt in a ditch somewhere. “How do you spell that?”

“The way you’d think it’s spelt,” Samuel spat, slightly irritated at being asked such a mundane and seemingly useless question. “Charles Lee is his name, exactly spelled like it sounds.”

“Sir, with all due respect, it is policy for me to ask how to spell a potential missing person’s name,” The receptionist replied, still sounding just as bored as she had the first time she had spoken. “Now once more- how do I spell his name?”

Samuel sighed and rolled his eyes, spelling out Charles’s name as he struggled to keep his heartrate down- he worked for a fucking mob boss, and had just a few hours ago been discussing the details of a major drug deal. And now he was standing in the middle of a building that housed probably dozens of police officers, as well as a miniature cell and many, many handcuffs and interrogation rooms. And some part of Samuel’s mind was well aware that if he was tested for gunshot residue or traces of certain illegal substances, he would most likely become the recipient of charges that were less-than-pleasant to have to admit on his resume.

Pulling her attention away from the computer screen and hitting a few buttons on the ancient-looking landline on her desk, she picked up the phone and spoke in a quick voice, none of the words seeming important enough for Samuel to even attempt tuning in on. Almost as quickly as she had picked it up, she set the phone back down on the holster, her gel nails clacking against the plastic, and turned her half-attention back to the man in front of her desk.

“You’ll need to identify a body- the morgue is down the left hall, third door to your right, you’ll need to go down a set of stairs,” The receptionist told him, absentmindedly picking up a hard candy from the bowl beside her and unwrapping it, the plastic making a crinkling sound as she popped it into her mouth. “You gonna stand there with your mouth hanging open like that, or are you gonna go? Because I can get someone to escort you down there, if you need it. We usually reserve that for young teens and children, but I’m sure-”

“N-no, no, I’ll get there myself, thank you,” Samuel cut her off, face turning red at the very idea of humiliation like that. Quickly pivoting on his feet, he shot down the hallway to the left, third door to the right, just as the (frankly, quite rude) receptionist had instructed him. 

Stumbling down the stairs (not that he’d ever admit to that, mind you), his eyes darted from side to side until they caught on a person hunched over a table, eyes focused intently as they carefully handled a metal tool that Samuel couldn’t quite recognize. Taking a few quiet steps forward, he had to suppress the urge to gag when his realized that the person was indeed hunched over a corpse, the body’s chest opened with clean, almost surgical cuts. With one final pierce of the needle, pulling on the thread that held the top parts of skin together, the person turned around and felt their eyes widen.

“I-Oh god, fuck!” They stammered, quickly turning again, dropping the needle into a metal cup and hurrying to cover the body with a surgical sheet, the bleached white a stark contrast to the bright crimson he’d just seen, and still plagued his mind. “I am… I am so sorry you had to see that. People usually announce their presence, but I was so preoccupied, and… and… Fuck, please don’t tell my boss you saw this?”

“I-I won’t, don’t worry…” Samuel reassured them, taking off his glasses and wiping them off on his shirt, biting his lip when he put them back on only to find them slightly more smudged than they had been. “I’m here to identify a body? Charles Lee? I-I’m Samuel, Samuel Seabury, although you probably knew that- of course you don’t, I didn’t tell the receptionist, but that doesn’t matter. Can I see the body? I’m sure this is all some sort of mistake, but I think refusing would only make this harder for everyone.”

“This is Charles, that I’m working on right now- he didn’t have a wallet, so we had to use fingerprint database… I’ll finish sewing him back up and then you can see the body,” She told him, pointing across the room to a chair in the corner, which faced a TV instead of the rows of cold, metal tables that shone in the artificial light. “Sit over there while you wait, feel free to change the channel. I wasn’t watching that, anyways- I’m Eliza, by the way.”

Samuel nodded curtly, taking long strides as he walked toward the chair and sat down, intent on keeping his focus on the random sports game that was on the TV- he’d never been a fan of… Football? Rugby? Whatever it was, he had no real opinion. All he knew about it was that he watched it until the little clock counted down to 0:13, and then the dark-haired woman called him back over as she lowered the sheet just enough to show the corpse’s face.

The man won’t be Charles, Samuel thought to himself as he stood up from the chair and walked slowly back over to the table. If it was Charles, he would have marks of putting up a fight, because that’s who he was- is. Who he is. Because Charles is okay, because Charles’s face won’t be framed by too-flat hair and suddenly too-tight too-pale skin. So pale. Why is it so pale, he won’t be dead, why are you thinking about it like this, Samuel, it won’t stop him from-

“Is this him?” Eliza asked softly, trying her best to keep up a farce of indifference, although her voice betrayed her, a slight pitying tone seeping through the words like sugar-water. Sticky and unnaturally sweet and when one pulls themselves away from it, they find it sticking in an irritating way. “His name is Charles Lee, but I imagine that it’s quite a common name in the city.”

Lying below him on the metal table, eyes wide and lacking the usual sarcastic glimmer they always held, was none other than Charles Lee. The very Charles Lee he had been arguing with only a mere few days ago. The topic escaped his mind at that moment, though he was well aware that it must have been something trivial. He hadn’t been particularly close to the man, and never cared for him much, but now? When the most powerful man in all of New York City wanted him? There’d be hell to pay, and King had never been one to care for not shooting the messenger.

Well, fuck.

“Yeah, this is the guy I was looking for,” Samuel confirmed, swallowing the lump he suddenly found in his throat, sending it down to land with the not-quite-butterflies in his stomach. Without realizing it, his expression contorted itself into an expression of indifference, cold and clean as King’s after a particularly bad deal gone wrong. He said not a word, nor did he take deep breaths, and his eyes blinked at an unnervingly even pace as he found himself unable to move enough to even tear his gaze away from the corpse of his… Enemy? No, that wouldn’t have been right. Sure, they were not friends, though they were not exactly in each other’s good graces at the time before Lee’s unfortunate demise.

“I understand if this is difficult for you, emotionally,” Eliza whispered, trying her best to sound respectful of Seabury’s nonexistent feelings toward the dead man. “And if you would like some time alone with him, I’m more than happy to go to the break room for the five minutes of time we’ve allotted for such things-”

“I’ll be on my way now, actually,” Seabury interjected, voice as sharp as the lines on his face, as faint as they may be. He lifted his head with only a little difficulty, and forced a smile, not allowing it to quite reach his eyes, due to not being able to give much of a fuck about her or anything she had to say. “Thank you so much for your time, have a nice day.”

Taken aback slightly by the man’s words, Eliza felt her feet freeze in place, but called out to him as soon as she realized exactly where he was headed.

“Sir!” She called out, quickly walking over in front of the steps, where he was. “Due to the… Nature of his death, I have to ask that you stay for a few more minutes, for questioning. I need to call up the office and tell them that he was identified, and that we have someone that knew him- would you mind staying behind for just a few more minutes, an hour maximum?”

Samuel turned to the woman, scowling at her as he looked her up and down. “Let me guess- you’re desperate for something, anything, because something bad happened. Maybe someone? You’re only here because you switched degrees- that much is obvious, from how you’re still clunky with all your tools, which by now you should be familiar with. Now let me leave. Bitch.”

Eliza’s eyes went even wider at Samuel’s words, although due to walking up the stairs and leaving the building without a second glance. He stepped out onto the sidewalk, and headed to his bus stop. He’d tell King what he knew later- for now, he needed to get wasted. Don’t shoot the messenger? King had always taken that as a challenge.

So tomorrow, at least he’d die hungover.

Though his hangover seemed to have been one of many regrets that next day.

“I refuse to believe it,” King stated, plain as day and clear as crystal. “Charlie is not… He is far too cunning for such a thing as death. Men such as us? We do not deserve the release of eternity’s cold grip. So where is he, in truth? Has he run off with some young thing? Kitten, what do you think?”

At his words, King pulled himself back from his desk and kicked his leg slightly at something beneath his desk. After a somewhat tense few moments and a silent glare, a man stood up from his kneeling position, adjusted his hair and wiped his lips, still not facing Samuel. Yet all the same, his identity was obvious.

“I think that we should listen to… What’s your name, again?” Kitten asked with a hint of shyness as he turned to look meekly at Samuel, who stood still in his place with a blank, albeit slightly uncomfortable expression. “I swear, I know who you are, but names have never been a strong suit of mine- which is strange, considering my profession.”

“Seabury,” Samuel replied as calmly as he could, trying his best not to piece together what Kitten had been doing between King’s legs as he sat below the desk. “My name is Samuel Seabury, and it’s quite alright that you forgot my name. We only spoke briefly.”

Mustering up a small smile, Kitten simply nodded and did his best not to yelp in surprise as King wrapped his arms around his waist and pulled the taller man into his lap. “Now darling, that’s no way to treat a guest. I expect you to know Simon’s name the next time you see him, and address him as such. Do I make myself clear?”

Despite King’s obvious contradiction. Kitten hummed softly in agreement as King peppered kisses along the crook of his dark skinned neck. Each one sent ripples through his body instead of the electricity it had used to, though he did his best to set those sort of thoughts aside. The world had always been seen through rose-tinted glass whenever he was with King; drugs weren't enough, they never were. However, those gentle, almost ticklish kisses down his throat had always been enough. Strangely, though, it was almost a blue instead of quiet pink. No one needed to know; not like he had anyone to talk to about it, anyways.

“King,” Samuel said, trying to draw the man’s attention away from his trailing kisses on the soft skin of his lover. “I am entirely certain of what I witnessed. Charles Lee is dead, and most likely has been since that first night he went missing. They wanted to keep me for questioning, probably because of the series of murders that’s been happening in the city as of late. There’s probably a reason as to why they connected Charles to the murders, but I find it rather unlikely that-”

“Tell me, Sorin,” King interjected, not caring very much at all for the other man’s words, even as he once more butchered pronunciation of the simple word. “Have you undergone years of training, and through the years had more than your fair share of witnessed crime scenes?”

“No, King,” Samuel replied, slightly confused as to why the conversation had shifted to such a seemingly useless topic. “I have never even seen a crime scene that I was not also present for the committing of such crime. May I ask why you inquired such a strange thing?”

“I’m only asking,” King began, his accent ringing through in his boredom more clearly than usual. “Because those damned police of this city seem to think that Charlie’s death is connected to the deaths of others. Now tell me- do you have the years of training and experience and the amount of evidence that those goddamned fucking detectives do?”

“I… No, sir. I do not.” Fidgeting in his place, he turned his gaze down at his hands as he idly attempted to find something to occupy his mind other than what may be his end- King was famously unpredictable with his ‘employees’, and he could certainly hire another secretary to act as private detective.

“Then why in the world do you think that your opinion on this matter would be influential in the slightest?” King asked rhetorically, leaning back further in his chair, unfazed by the squeaking coming from it at the movement. “If my Charlie is as dead as the doornail I will hang your head from when this is over, then I suggest you find his killer. Before I become one, myself. I suggest that you leave. Immediately would be preferred.”

Nodding curtly, Samuel nearly tripped over himself as he rushed out of the room, almost forgetting to shut the door behind him in his haste. As soon as the man left the room, Kitten turned to his lover with a slightly disapproving gleam in his eyes, which did not dissolve as he spoke.

“Did you have to be so cruel with him?” Kitten asked, their lower lip inadvertently pouting out like a petulant child at an hour past their bedtime. “He did not mean to be the bearer of bad news, and I don’t think that he particularly wished to be such a thing. Especially for a man such as yourself.”

“And, pray tell, what kind of man am I?” King inquired as he stood and pushed Kitten against his desk and leaned up to nibble playfully at his lower lip, as though they were innocent lovers, perhaps teenagers cooped up in a basement.

“A p-possessive one, most certainly,” Kitten gasped softly, doing his best not to buck his hips up against King’s and committing such an action, anyways. “A man that a-always gets what he wants, even when it seems impossible.”

“Impossibility is for those foolish enough not to try something new,” King pointed out, as if it were simply the most obvious thing in the entire world. His tone was cocky, bold as a permanent marker, and sharp as a dulled pink crayon. “I doubt that you believe things to be impossible- so… Care to try something new?”

Instead of answering with mere words, Kitten hoisted himself up onto the desk, spread his legs, and leaned back as he supported his weight with his forearms. He winked playfully up at King from his position, and let out a surprised giggle as King took him over and began to thoroughly wreck his mind and body.

And if he tried- really tried-

Maybe he would stop having to pretend that a different name was what he suppressed in his moans.


	10. Chapter 10

It had been a quiet day at the station- no unexpected malfunctions with the coffee maker, no press briefings to prepare for, no more found bodies. In fact, the day could almost have been classified as a boring one. A tedious, regular day, filled with paperwork and filling out crime scene reports, and getting absolutely nowhere in the cases they’d been hoping to make progress in, even if it was just to distract the press.

So John Laurens sat at his desk, checking boxes and signing on the dotted line, as was par for the course during days like these. Any sunlight attempting to stream through the windows was caught dead in its tracks, halted by the tightly drawn blinds. Despite his efforts, there was simply no good way for open windows, considering the position of his office. Instead, he would have to settle for the artificial lighting inside.

“Officer Laurens!” An unrecognizable voice exclaimed as the door to his office flung open and a far too recognizable person burst through and stumbled in as they attempted to slow down the momentum they’d accrued. “It’s the serial killings- I think we have a lead.”

Those words brought John Laurens’s head to rise from his well-trained focus on the papers to the woman before him. He did his best to regain composure, sitting up straight as the corners of his mouth pinched into a tight line, eyes no longer wide with shock. “You have a lead in the what, now? I do believe you misspoke.”

“The Alley Cat Killer- we have a lead,” Angelica explained, grinning widely, the joy on her face almost seeping through to John’s cold, clean, professional office. “As stupid as the name is, the press should get credit for how catchy it is- but I digress. We have a theory-”

“I don’t have time for theories, Schuyler,” John interjected, turning his gaze but not his focus back to the papers strewn across his desk, papers focusing on the subject of the very same serial killings that the woman in his office was speaking of. “I have time for solid, well-formed leads. But you don’t have that. You have a theory. Theories are useless at this point; every crackhead in the city has a theory about the moon landing, and I don’t concern myself with them.”

“And evolution is ‘just a theory’. Doesn’t make it any less true,” Schuyler pointed out, her voice slightly sharp at the edges of her tone, although she was obviously doing her best to maintain a professional front. Her dark eyes cut through Laurens’s mind, not holding back an inch of resentment that she was forced to hide from the rest of her expression. One can be fired for their words- not their gaze.“The Alley Cat Killer isn’t a serial killer. It’s two killers.”

“Two killers, wow Miss Schuyler, your first grade math skills certainly have not improved after all this time. I must say that I’m disappointed in you,” John teased mockingly, cracking a soft smile at the woman’s evident excitement. “In all seriousness, however, I have no reason to take such a theory into consideration. Innocent people have died at the hands of this killer, there’s no use in only empowering them to the level where we assume that they could only be more than one person.”

“But sir, I have proof!” Angelica protested, moving over to the front of the police captain’s desk and setting down a file folder, unfolding it to show a hefty stack of papers and photographs, most of them from the scenes of crimes. Others were pictures of the victims, and some were even toxicology reports. Angelica’s face was drawn into an expression of pure determination as she spread out the pages, and she made a small hum of contentment when John glanced down at them.

 

“Detective Schuyler,” John began, his southern drawl becoming slightly more pronounced as he did his best to sympathize with the heartbreak still clawing at him from Alexander’s actions. “With all due respect, we do not need this right now. I can barely tell what you’ve attempted to organize here. It’s all mixed together, crime scene photos mixed with blood tests- not even a damn paper clip? Minimal effort is key, Schuyler. I don’t think that this will be of any use to anyone. Did you have something important to tell me, or are you only in my office to waste time?”

“Look at this, though!” Angelica protested, pointing down at a crime scene photo. Dusty footprints, and blood spattered across the floor like a Jackson Pollock original. It was artistic, in a way- that much John would have to admit. Typically, crime scenes (almost always murders) had crimson all around, dropping and dripping all around in streaks and marks that would most likely not be washed away for quite some time. “These footprints, while the same indentation pattern, are obviously different sizes!”

“As is stated in the detailed crime scene report, the victim didn’t have any clothing on- including shoes,” John pointed out, his voice softening just the slightest bit as he realized just how long Angelica had been planning this. The papers and file were worn around the edges, one even stained from scarlet, presumably from a paper cut back when the edges were not yet soft as they now were. “Schuyler, I suggest that you take this back and come back with a more detailed report of your findings, if there is any fragment of truth to them. I… I really don’t want to argue with you right now.”

“The victim’s wrists had markings that could have only come from before estimated death. There couldn’t have been a struggle- not with the dating and established times by the CSI,” Angelica continued, almost as if she simply had not heard John instead of purposefully ignoring him in favor of showing off the work she had put into the idea. “So either some CSI fucked up royally on a media-heavy case- or something more rational. The footsteps are different sizes because they’re from two different people. There’s so much proof, and it’s been under our noses this whole time, can’t you see?”

“I can see perfectly well at the moment,” John spat, temper having been cut entirely too short for him to care any sort of bit that should, causing him to block out any semblance of Angelica’s ideas having a fiber of truth to them. “And all I see is a detective that had been compiling useless evidence into a useless file instead of doing her job during a time when we must seem as vigilant as possible in case a reporter is watching from the shadows.”

“...The knife strokes,” She stated plainly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world to just about everyone. “Higher up ones are always more precise, almost surgical in nature. However, when they’re lower, they more more torn and bleed far, far more. If one killer were truly behind this, then please explain to me just how this could be some sort of strange coincidence as to what happens in the top versus bottom halves of the body. Go on, I’ll wait!”

John sighed quietly and made eye contact with Angelica, whose arms were smugly crossed across her chest as she smirked down at the man. Before the woman could speak once more, John cut her off. “We’ve established that the perpetrator is taller than the average person. When leaning or looking down, hand-eye coordination decreases. Stabbing angles and knife strokes should be dismissed as the anecdotal evidence in all cases ought to be.”

“Then explain to me why all kidnappings are in the same general area,” Angelica demanded, still smugly smirking at John as she stated something the man had yet to consider. 

“...Repeat yourself, Schuyler?” Laurens asked quietly, unsure of if these words were what he truly needed to hear, what he needed; what would inevitably save lives. If her ideas were false and proven to be such, then he would have to send her home for wild allegations and interfering with the path of justice. 

“All the initial kidnappings are in the same general vicinity, between two major streets. And more importantly, they are all a similar distance from the business district as well as residential areas. This could, of course, be chalked up to simple priority and the ease with which a killer would find a potential victim. But the areas are between two different residential sections, meaning that these are, in fact, meeting places for the two. If anyone ever walked down an alley, barely sober and entirely too unaware of the potential consequences…”

“Then they’d be a target,” John finished, leaning back in his chair and pushing aside a stand of his hair as he stood up and looked Angelica directly in the eyes, his gaze steely and cutting. “You are to report back to your desk, and to not inform anyone of this.”

“I-what?” Angelica questioned, eyes wide and brow furrowed in confusion at what her boss had just instructed of her. “But, sir, this information could save lives! If we tell people, then-”

“Then we would have a field day with the press. Can you even imagine the scrutiny we’d be under if we informed the public? Not only one, but two crazed killers loose on the streets? People would start asking why we haven’t done anything yet, despite our obvious efforts,” Laurens cut her off, expression not softening even the slightest bit to sympathize with the woman. “I’ll be able to take care of it from here, thank you for your time, Detective. I’ll inform my team, and you are under strict instruction to not speak a word of this to anyone- especially reporters, or suspects. Or that bastard Benedict Arnold- for all the undercover work he’s doing, I fear him to be more attached to our targets than our organization.”

Angelica scowled at the man, unable to fully suppress her anger at the very idea. “And I suppose that you’ll be taking credit for each and every one of the ideas, writing your name over my own on the detailed descriptions and intense reevaluations of the evidence? Do you even have any idea just how long this took me to amass!?”

“Quite some time- and don’t think that I refuse to appreciate it. The opposite, in fact,” John replied, closing the file and walking over to the file cabinet to put it inside. Frowning at the lack of space inside the drawers, he resolved to set it atop the cabinet as he continued speaking. “I find it truly inspiring that you spent so much personal time on your job, as it shows your initiative and commitment and all that. Now go- I have a meeting in four minutes, and I intend for it begin at the scheduled time.”

Restraining herself from spitting in the man’s face, Angelica turned and slammed the door behind her, leaving the room as noise echoed through.

Meanwhile, however, the very thing they were yearning to end was occurring once more.

Scarlet splattered across Alexander’s cheeks, almost in his eyes, which were wide with the ecstasy brought only with the slices of his blade. Each movement brought a new step forward, or a draw away from the convulsing half-corpse in front of him. He had no time for the precise cuts of Thomas’s variety; that’s just a waste of time. Instead, he took a bite to the bottom of his lip as he stood over the body and lifted and sunk down his weapon in a wild manner. No pace, no rhythm, just a shining shard of chaos wrapped up in crimson-soaked dark hair.

His chest rose and fell rapidly, each breath shallow as he almost moaned at the sight before him, the sounds filling the warehouse, the metallic taste on the tip of his tongue, the way Thomas’s body worked so perfectly along with his own- Thomas.

Where was Thomas? Lifting his blade for a moment, he narrowed his eyes in a moment of thought, he sensed no body heat from the other man, no other breathing, and saw no more wounds than those from his own afflictions. Alexander turned around, sure that his victim would not rise of their own accord, and set his gaze upon the corner of the room where Thomas stood, scowling as he twirled a knife in his hands.

“What are you doing?” Alexander asked, not stupid enough to call out for the other man- voices not gagged easily travelled outside, and then they would have to double the night’s body count. “Aren’t you going to take a hit? They’re still moving, plenty of blood left to spill..”

“I don’t give a fuck about this,” Thomas spat, eyes focused on the glint of his blade in the moonlight that spilled through the high windows. He refused to look up at Alexander, and if his tone were to suggest anything, it would be for Alexander to drop the subject. Now. “You have fun, I’ll just… I’ll just be here, I suppose. Stab them, skin them- do whatever the fuck you want. This one’s yours.”

“You always want to finish them off…” Alexander pointed out, not catching Thomas’s drift and walking toward him as his own blade clattered to the ground. After only a few steps, he found himself face-to-face with the taller man, due to him lacking in the height department, and Thomas’s gaze being cast downward. “What’s wrong? You’re so out of it, we didn’t have to get a mark tonight, and you insisted on it, you practically begged for it, even though I was busy. So what the fuck is up with you? Why ask me to help tonight if you didn’t want to have any part in it?”

Thomas sighed quietly, tucking his knife into his waistcoat pocket as he finally met Alexander’s eyes, his own softened with a sort of pity that had never found itself directed at him. Smiling softly, a smile that had only been for Alexander when he’d fallen asleep on the man’s shoulder, Thomas did his best to maintain it as he spoke. “...I guess I wanted to see you in action one more time before I went solo.”

“...Solo?” Alexander repeated, hoping desperately that he’d misheard Thomas’s words, that his eyes were blurred so that he wasn’t truly being faced with a look of pity and a quiet smile as they stood in the pale moonlight. A scene that could almost be considered romantic, in its way. If he were to lean forward just the slightest bit, and stand on his tiptoes, his lips would reach Thomas’s, and fireworks would spark behind their eyes as Thomas wrapped his arms around Alexander’s waist. They would kiss and ignore the corpse in the center of the room, and their lives would be complete for once. They wouldn’t need the bottles of whiskey that Alexander knew Thomas kept in his office, or Lafayette and John- not that they needed him at the moment, anyways.

But that was not the Thomas he needed.

“I think it’s high time that we split up,” Thomas elaborated, still smiling reassuringly at Alexander. That stupid, sweet smile that took up his mind during hours when he couldn’t find the energy within himself to push away the memories. “We’ve worked together so well for so long, but I need something more. Something different.”

“More?” Alexander asked, his voice almost cracking at the end of the word, his eyes beginning to sting as he hoped the lighting was low enough that Thomas couldn’t see it. “So I’m not enough for you?”

“N-no!” Thomas stammered, backtracking on his statement as he gained a worried expression on his face. “W-what I meant to say was that… I… I can’t… You’re…”

“Not good enough, it’s fine, I get it. I’m not good enough for my husbands, I’m not good enough for my job, I’m not good enough for you- you should leave. If you’re so desperate for something better than what you can find with me. Go.” Alexander stepped back, pointing to the door as he stared Thomas down with cold, unforgiving eyes.

“Alexander, I never wanted to hurt you; I lo-” Thomas attempted to say, an unspoken confession hanging heavy in his mind as he was cut off by Alexander’s unforgiving voice.

“Just… Leave. I don’t give a fuck about your goodbyes. Leave. Leave like everyone else has.” Voice still sharp, Alexander stepped to the side, further clearing the path for Thomas to leave, leave his life; that’s what he’d wanted, right?

“Alexander that’s not what I meant. I want a secure future with-”

“Leave, Jefferson.”

“Bu-”

“Leave.”

On that night, many things happened.

A man known only as Kitten was thoroughly claimed by a man known only as King, and although neither of them would admit to it, they wished to be moaning another man’s name. Two officers of the law found themselves in a battle of wits as to see who would receive credit that rightly belonged to one, not the other. Most strikingly, however, and perhaps most importantly was this-

The Alley Cat Killings would be no more.


	11. Chapter 11

“Thank you for meeting me here…” Alexander whispered, his eyes cast down in shame as he sat at the table, across from the very man whose heart he had broken without even knowing it. “I know that you have better things to do than talk to me, but-”

“I don’t want bullshit,” Lafayette cut him off, sounding just as heartbroken as the last time they had spoken. His eyes glimmered with unshed tears, but tear stains lined his cheeks like dripping paint from a fresh watercolor painting. Of course it did; even when desperately dejected, Lafayette was still a masterpiece. “I just want an explanation. I do, in fact, have better things to do, so please make this quick, before my coffee gets cold.”

“Of course,” Alexander replied, biting his lower lip as he fidgeted with his hands, moving them from the cold metal of the armrest on the park bench. They sat in the shade of a tree in a more secluded part of Central Park, at an hour when most people didn’t want to be sitting in a drafty open space. Instead, others flocked to the warmth of hundreds of bodies in a nightclub, all flashing lights and pulsing music. But Lafayette and Alexander were not most people. Not in the slightest. 

Lafayette glared at him out of the corner of his eyes, refusing to look at him directly, as if it would bring a sort of unintended respect for the man which he held in no high regard. His own hands shivered with the cold, only warmed slightly by the cheap cup of coffee that he’d bought from some overpriced hipster cafe. Just like the ones he’d always dragged John and Alexander to on cold mornings in the city. Those cold mornings warmed his heart at the thought, almost more so than the long evenings that passed like molasses as they stood over their latest project. But Thomas was gone now, wasn’t he? Now, Alexander had no one, not even his work which he had so often fallen back on during hard times when nothing fit together, like a jigsaw puzzle that had pieces cut off.

Now, all he could do was try to fit back the mismatched pieces into something that resembled a fulfilling life. And the first thing he had to do in order to make that a reality? He needed to explain everything to Lafayette that he could.

“I love you, never doubt that,” Alexander began, turning slightly to look up at Lafayette’s disapproval. He expected his heart to beat faster at the sight, for butterflies to flutter in his stomach at the very thought of being so close to his partner again. But instead, he only found himself filled with a strange sort of chill at the layers of formality between them. “I never cheated on you, and I would never dream of doing such a thing. Tho- Jefferson and I… We were trying to become friends, despite our differences. When things were hard between the three of us, I needed a friend that wouldn’t automatically side with you two instead of me. Jefferson was perfect for that. He and I would meet at a bar once or twice every week or so. We were never… He and I… I never had sex with him. I promise you that.”

“Not having sex isn’t enough,” Lafayette pointed out, his voice even despite the shuddering breaths he took, unaccustomed to the weight his words would hold. “How can I know that you didn’t make out with him in the closet at work? How am I supposed to know what counts as sex? Grinding? Handjobs? Did you blow him from under his desk, blow him until your knees hurt from crouching for so long?”

“Lafayette, I never did anything romantic with him, I promise,” Alexander swore, his eyes wide and pleading, despite his uncertainty if Lafayette’s trust was truly what he wanted or needed. “I never did anything sexual with him, I didn’t kiss him, I didn’t go out on candlelit dinners with him, and I never kissed him. I never even hugged the man, aside from those team building exercises that Washington insists we do.”

“...John’s been gone from the house a lot more often than usual..” Lafayette whispered, staring down at the white plastic lid of his cup, fingertips cold but palms of his hands warm from the liquid inside. “Says that they’re on the verge of solving the serial killings in the city. But… He’s never home. Never there for me to cuddle and kiss and talk to and confide in. And you? You’re almost never home, either. Haven’t been close to you in forever, was like you were drifting away. Easy to believe that you found someone else. Someone that made you happy, someone that made your heart beat like it used to for us. I was almost always alone. Whatever job I took up, I kept trying to get shifts that would have us all home at the same time, but… You work late. John works late. What time is left for spending with me? None.”

“Lafayette… That’s not what we wanted, not what I wanted for you. We want to be with you, we love you, always and forever, no matter how much time we spend at work.” Or out on the streets, causing more job problems for John. “We always loved you, and even though we love our careers, we haven’t been showing just how much you overshadow that shallow kind of love. Work can wait, but I should’ve known that there’s never been enough time to spend with you- not because of the length of the days, but how much overtime I put in. I promise, when… If I come back home, and you want me there… I’ll hold you close and press kisses to your cheeks and forehead and everywhere that I haven’t been able to kiss in forever.”

“..You promise?” Lafayette asked softly, his voice diminutive and clear like a diamond, just how much he wanted this shining through his tone. Eyes with stars scattered through like broken glass looked at Alexander, now soft around the edges instead of sharp. “You promise that you’ll love me again?”

Alexander looked up fully, turning his body to face Lafayette as he reached forward and took Lafayette’s free hand in his own, squeezing it reassuringly. “I never stopped loving you, Lafayette. Mon cher, I love you more than almost anything in this world. Never should’ve let my ideas flood through and drown us. Does… Does John feel like I’ve been treating him this way, too?”

“My… Our John does not have the time for our relationship, at the moment..” Lafayette whispered, averting his gaze from Alexander’s once more, though not pulling his hand away. “He’s working himself to near death with the killer, and I fear that his health may be taking a rather harsh hit. I wish that he could have the self-control to know when to quit, but it seems as though neither of you are very accustomed to such a thing.”

Alexander laughed, a shallow, thin laughter with a glossy sheen to it, something making it seem artificial, and rightly so. “I guess not.. We love you, though. And if John is willing to talk to me in the near future, I’ll try to convince him to take a break.”

“How can you convince him to do a thing that you are unable to commit to?” Lafayette asked softly, still not meeting Alexander’s eyes. Instead, he opted to squeeze Alexander’s hand even tighter, a silent prayer that maybe, just maybe, his lovers would finally have time for something more than themselves. “And I highly doubt that he wants to talk to you. I… I don’t know how I feel about your story. You were home so late on our anniversary, and on the night we were supposed to celebrate together, you weren’t there. Didn’t even call.”

“You told me that you didn’t want me with you,” Alexander pointed out, flinching internally at the memory of being kicked out of their home on that cold morning with an aching back from having slept on the couch. Lafayette’s voice had been empty, lacking in emotion until almost the end, when his voice cracked with emotion threatening to spill over the brim out from his eyes. “I worked through the night, instead. Wouldn’t have wanted to intrude on your and John’s special night…”

“It wasn’t the same without you…” Lafayette whispered softly, squeezing Alexander’s hand even tighter, as if it would hold their relationship together despite already being strewn out across the city and tossed in the gutter. “You proposed on our anniversary two years ago… Table was set for three, three pieces of cake, and the food we got was too much because we forgot that it was something that only you liked. And… everything was emptier. John’s only day off in weeks, and by the end of it he was taking calls from work.”

“Laffy, I would have given anything to be there with you, but you’d said it yourself. I could go anywhere, as long as it wasn’t where you were…” Alexander responded, rubbing his thumb in reassuring little circles against the smooth skin of Lafayette’s hand, which was almost white at the knuckles from the tight grip. 

Lafayette lifted his gaze once more to reveal tears in his eyes, which were red-rimmed with raw emotion coursing through his veins. “I didn’t mean it. I-I need you. We both need you, we-I was just being stupid, and blind, and I overheard you talking to Jefferson the night before, and thought it couldn’t be anything more than you cheating. But I know that you love me, but I was so stupid, and I’m so sorry, and I know you can’t forgive me for being so blind, but-”

Alexander cut Lafayette off with a kiss- not a harsh, passionate one. Instead, it was barely anything more than a chaste little peck on the lips, sharp and yet soft, quick and short and sweet and exactly everything that Alexander had missed. Instead of fireworks behind his closed eyes, he felt like a garden of daisies had weeded their way into his mind, growing a garden which had been hidden until just now. Those first few steps one takes into a new garden, filled to the brim with blossoms- that’s the only way to describe how Alexander felt in that moment, lips melding against Lafayette’s in nothing more than pure, unfiltered love.

Instead of Alexander pulling away, due to being the instigator of the kiss, it was Lafayette who was the one to break them apart. Setting his drink on the ground, Alexander leaned in for a more passionate kiss but was cut off by Lafayette reaching into his pocket and fervently scrolling on his phone, eyes widening as he stood and pulled Alexander up, leading him off out of the park.

“L-Laf!” Alexander exclaimed as he was dragged through the park by his partner, kicking up dust as leaves crunched beneath his feet. Nevertheless, he did his best to match Lafayette’s frantic pace and tried to hold onto his hand, lest he lose the other man in a sudden crowd. “What are you doing?”

Lafayette stopped dead in his tracks, turning and taking both of Alexander’s hands in his, holding them tightly with tears in his eyes and an intense, shining grin on his face as he spoke. “My prayers have been answered, mon amour!”

Suddenly, Alexander found himself enveloped in a warm embrace, and hugged back confusedly, patting him on the back in confusion. “That makes me very, very happy, my love- but what happened? Who sent you that text message that made you ever so happy?”

“Oh my Alexander, it’s truly wonderful…” Lafayette whispered, pressing gentle kisses to his lover’s neck and edge of his cheek. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone yet, or even know this, but John just messaged me- he’s going to have much more time for us again!”

“Oh love, that’s incredible- what happened? Is the case being handled by the feds or something?”

“No, Alexander…” Lafayette whispered again, his voice even fainter than the last time he had spoken. “They caught him. The killer is currently awaiting interrogation, but they caught him in the act. There’s no way he’s not going to prison for his crimes.”


	12. Chapter 12

Flashes of light and blurs of darkness melted into Thomas Jefferson’s mind, seemingly unending through the night. 

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

He almost didn’t understand- and in a way, he still wouldn’t had it not been so obvious. Sitting in an alley, waiting in the darkness, without Alexander. Alexander. He had abandoned Alexander, claiming that had only wanted what was best for them, which was to split up. How foolish he’d been- without Alexander, there was no one to signal to him, signal that he’d been in the wrong position, signal that he couldn’t overpower the next potential target. No one to signal that they needed to work together in order to emerge victorious.

Shock value didn’t work nearly as well anymore as it used to, in the days of old. Jumpscares and horror movies had desensitized people to that sudden burst of glorious fear, flooding their minds and freezing their steps. Especially people that were courageous- or stupid- enough to stroll down a dark alley at half past midnight when there were killers out and about. Not like the media had neglected to report on it- quite the opposite, in fact. 

The story had been taken by the hand and ran off into the sunset with every newspaper, blogging site, and twitter user in the general NYC area. The Alley Cat Killer, they’d been nicknamed, since most killings were estimated to have occurred in alleyways where the bodies were later found. And despite the stupid name, it had become an outright sensation. New York City had been taken by storm with ‘Ways To Protect Yourself’ and ‘How To Escape Duct Tape Binds’ being some of the most common headlines on those Pop Buzz websites that claimed to know just about everything.

People had begun refusing to take out the trash, stating that they were too afraid to go out into the alley, for fear of being pulled behind a dumpster. As if Thomas would have been stupid enough to target someone in such a public place as that, especially during daylight hours. Nonetheless, the world is full of people desperately trying to pass off as something remotely more interesting than themselves, and copycat killers were not few and far between when one considers the city of New York. Many had been caught, but some deaths were wrongly attributed to the Alley Cat Killer. Not that Thomas was complaining. That, after all, had been Alexander’s job.

And if he still had Alexander, he wouldn’t be sitting in the police station, hands cuffed to the metal table, his back facing a large one-way-mirror. He couldn’t recall exactly how he’d ended up here, the only memory sticking to his mind being the one of abandoning Alexander, his Alexander, who he left to fend for himself in the dark shadow of night. Alexander would probably never kill again, Thomas thought idly as he fiddles with his hands. Alexander’s talent was with a prepared target- not overpowering people. That had always been Thomas’s concern.

Although, he would have to admit that hand-to-hand combat with a police officer fresh from a war zone was not exactly one of his talents.

Soon enough, two officers strolled in, as casual and nonchalant as if they were simply on their way to the grocery store to buy a pack of bubblegum. One of them was a tall, dark man, who looked much like Thomas himself but instead donned a navy colored uniform and a patch that said ‘Arnold’. The other was a man that Thomas recognized well, from all the times he’d seen his photo on Alexander’s desk, in a frame decorated with seashells and sand-colored paint.

“Good evening, officer Laurens,” Thomas greeted a bit too cheerfully, his voice flat and artificial in the joy he faked as he smiled a grotesque sort of smile at the man before him. “I studied law, so I know my rights very well- I refuse to speak to you until I have my lawyer, which is my right. I’m also allowed to call for my lawyer, so if you’ll show me to the nearest payphone, that would be absolutely wonderful. Thank you and good night.”

Scowling down at him, Arnold slapped down a thick file, opening it and setting the photos in front of Thomas, pale paper against the dark, cold metallic sheen of the table. A piece of paper stuck to his sweaty hands, and he shook it off, the parchment fluttering down like a broken-winged bird.

“Do you recognize any of these people?” He asked, voice as flat as Thomas’s had been trying not to be. “Because you most definitely should.”

“Of course I do, their pictures have been on memorial wreaths all around the city, I passed one or two on my way down here in your squad car. And, of course, I keep up with the news, and these photos have been all over it,” Thomas stated, glancing down at a few of the headshots. A few were obviously school photos, and some taken at the DMV after a long day of waiting and frustration. “But once more, I still need a lawyer, and access to a phone. I’ll need a few quarters if it’s a payphone- left my wallet at home.”

“Arnold, get the phone,” Laurens commanded in a sharp, no-nonsense voice as he pointed to the door which Arnold obediently disappeared behind. “Mr. Jefferson, we truly just want to help you, chalk it all up to a misunderstanding, and send you home before the bars close. If you would please cooperate, it’d make everyone’s lives easier- especially your own. Asking for a lawyer only makes you seem more guilty of your charges.”

“Before the bars close?” Thomas repeated, still grinning in an unnatural manner as he tugged slightly on his handcuffs, the metal almost cutting against his wrists. “Are you sure that you should really be hitting the bars? With your relationship in the state it is, I would suggest staying away from the bottle for a few days- you might stay out too late, and your little husbands would get quite worried about you. After all, there is a murderer on the loose, it’s not safe to be out at these hours.”

“How the fuck do you know about any of this?” Laurens growled, setting his hands on the table in an attempt to further intimidate the man. “You been stalking me? Watching my husbands? I’ll have you know, assault of an officer is a-”

“Officer Laurens,” Stated a cold, mechanical voice coming from the speakers above their heads, attached to the ceiling and corners of the walls. The noise caused both men to look up at the speakers, Jefferson narrowing his eyes in suspicion. “We ran his prints. Thomas Jefferson works at Washington and Co. Law Firm.”

Biting his lower lip, Laurens tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, still glaring at Jefferson, though not without a hint of shock to the expression he held. “You work with Alexander. You- oh my god, that’s where I know the name from… You fucking… You work with my husband. This whole time, you.. He…”

“I still want my lawyer,” Thomas chimed in, his almost cheerful voice a stark contrast to John’s own, verging on desperation as he held onto the thin strands tying down his mind. “I know my rights, and I’m still waiting. I do not wish to be questioned at this time, so if you would be so kind as to leave the room, that would be greatly appreciated-”

“Officer Laurens, sir!” Arnold called out as he entered the room, a disposable cell phone in hand. “We have the phone.”

“Thank you,” Thomas replied as he was handed the phone and did his best to type in the number he wanted and put it on speakerphone. The electronic sound of ringing filled the cold room, echoing off the speakers in the corners as he stared down blankly at the phone’s screen.

Alexander almost didn’t pick up his phone.

It had been a long day, and although he did not know exactly who had been arrested, he had a half-decent inkling of an idea. Nevertheless, when his phone began ringing, he pulled it off of the nightstand, squinting at the words ‘unknown number’ on his too-bright screen in the darkness of the bedroom. Sheets rustling around his legs, he sat up, smiling softly as Lafayette hugged him by the waist as he selected to accept the call.

“Hi, Alex,” Thomas greeted casually, as if it were a simple conversation and they were simple people leading simple lives. Simplicity was for the complacent, anyways. “I’m down at the police station right now, and I’m in a bit of a bind. You mind acting as my lawyer until they let me go when they realize how much of a mistake they’ve made.”

“What’re you being charged with?” Alexander asked, hesitant to assist the man that had abandoned him when he had absolutely no one else to turn to, no one to love him, no one to hold him and assure him that everything would turn out alright. 

“You aren’t gonna fucking believe this,” Thomas began, stifling laughter at the sheer absurdity of the situation they found themselves in. “But I’m being charged with first degree murder. Twelve counts of it, actually. These geniuses think that I’m the damn Alley Cat Killer- meow, I guess.”

A moment of silence followed the statement, before something crossed Alexander’s mind. This call was being monitored, because police station calls always were, and Thomas was likely in the room with a few angry officers, which would be upset at the backhanded insult. So Alexander did the only rational thing he could come up with in such a short span of time, and began to cackle in laughter, only stopping with heavy breaths to repeat Thomas’s words. 

“They think you’re the Alley Cat Killer?” He asked, faking a snort of laughter as he wiped away imaginary tears. “They do know that you’re you, right? Whatever, I’ll be right there, just give me a few minutes to get clothes on, I’ll be right there.”

“Thanks, Lex!” Thomas replied, hanging up the phone and pushing it away as he smirked up at the officers, who both had looks of shock painted across their faces. “You heard the man. My lawyer will be here in a few minutes.”

Across the building, in a room far less chilling as the one Thomas found himself in, a man paced back and forth across cheap linoleum until his phone rang. Glancing around to be sure that no one would follow him, he headed outside and walked behind a nearby building as he answered the call.

“Samuel, I do hope that what you’ve told me is true, else I shall be rather disappointed in you,” King stated immediately, voice cold and intimidating, as per usual, although not without the slight glimmer of hope that Samuel had given him. “And you know what happens when I’m disappointed in people, so I do believe you would not have spoken in hyperbole.”

“I didn’t sir,” Samuel replied cooly, fully aware that even speaking the moniker of King so close to a police station would most likely not end well for him. “They have caught the killer of Lee.”

King sighed dramatically, almost too much so, and Samuel would have poked fun at him, had the man not controlled almost every facet of his life at that moment. “Well I suppose I’m simply down a lover. No matter- I still have my Kitten, and he is sweet as ever. You really should watch some time, it truly is a treat how wonderful he looks when he comes undone.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Samuel pointed out, hoping to cut off that train of thought as soon as possible. “I’m sure that sight would be sweeter if you knew that you were the only one to witness it. I should be getting back to the station now; is there any information you need me to get for you? A few officers will be on break soon, so I’ll hear some statements from nearby paparazzi.”

“No, no, it’s all fine. After all, my Kitten will be here soon, and I best not keep him waiting. You have fun; I’ll keep my phone on, text me if it’s urgent. But for now, I must get ready for Kitten.”


	13. Chapter 13

The man known only as King sat at his desk, office full of mysterious substances, as he stared down at a newspaper with an almost grotesque sort of smile. In another world, he was well aware that his life would have been far, far different than it already was. Maybe a ruler of a far off land. Perhaps he would find himself lying in the throes of a luxurious lifestyle, swaddled in velvet and anointed with diamonds. Alas, the only diamonds he had were the ones on his many rings, most from desperate junkies willing to sacrifice even the uttermost symbol of their love for a few moments of bliss. They would be back later, anyways. They always were.

So as King grinned at the black and white photos on the paper he held in his hands, it was almost impossible for him to feel anything other than a childlike sort of joy. A joy unlike any kind a mature adult should experience- the feeling of a child opening their first Hanukkah gift. However, either due to his lack of true experience, or his seemingly carefree demeanor, when he spoke, his voice rang clear as a bell.

“Kitten, my darling dear!” He called out, almost seeming more youthful at the tone in his voice that spread like spilled coffee into his eyes. Kicking his legs up and down like a restless child as Kitten entered the room, he eagerly reached out for them. “Oh, my star, you shine brighter than the sun itself- come here, on my desk, like a good Kitten.”

Kitten kept his gaze cast downward as he pulled himself atop the dark wood of the desk, refusing to make eye contact with the man that he had willingly enjoyed. In truth, it was less in a moment of longing, and more in a moment of such utter desperation that it seemed as though narcotics would fix his problem. Although this would prove itself not to be the case. The powder in his mind never fully dulling the pain, never entirely settling the tsunami on the tip of his tongue, somehow led him to the source.

The first time he had met the man, he’d been told to address him as King, nothing more and nothing less, if he valued his life. Despite the tugging at his heart that told him ‘no, what would the others think’ and his own inhibitions, he’d complied, the words easily slipping out as though they were waves of the ocean he had so struggled to hold back. He had done exactly as King had asked- step forward, he’d asked. Tell me your name, he’d said, and the words came just as easily as the others had. 

What a pretty name, King had told him in approval, smirking softly, the curve of the edge of his lips accentuated by the shining of the late afternoon light. While the light was truly just that of fluorescent bulbs screwed into the ceiling, it had somehow echoed through and danced with ribbons in its hands. Wrapped itself around King’s soft waves of hair and curled them further until the twirled in on themselves like disoriented ballerinas. However, no matter what King said about his names- first or last- he somehow still insisted on-

“Kitten,” King whispered sweetly, reaching up and gently running hand along the other man’s shoulder, fingernails trailing almost possessively along dark skin. Shivers ran down Kitten’s spine at the touch, and his eyes darted from the desk to his shoulder where King’s hand rested. “How is it that even in such moments as these, you still shine as brilliantly like the star you always have been? Truly, you must be a mythical creature gifted to me from a world before my own. Where did you come from, my Kitten? The sky, perhaps, with all your fellow shining companions? Or maybe you scended like a blossom from the branches of a cherry tree when the leaves are tinged with pale pink, hm?”

“I am none of those, King,” Kitten replied softly, in a diminutive voice- just the way King liked. Just the way King had instructed him to speak, lest he be the next victim of one of his bouts of cruelty. “I am simply Kitten. Your kitten. Soft and more than plenty eager to please you.”

“That you are,” King agreed, tugging on Kitten’s collar to pull him down, and frowning slightly as the man refused to move from his position atop the desk. Eyes narrowing in the slight shock, he looked up into Kitten’s eyes as best he could. “Kitten, darling dearest? Lean down so that I might kiss you and feel those soft rose petal lips on mine.”

Biting his lip harshly, Kitten pulled away from King’s hand, keeping his legs swung over the side of the desk that was furthest from King. Despite the metallic taste filling his mouth, Kitten spoke, doing his best to prevent little specks of scarlet from trailing out onto the somewhat-pristine carpeting. 

“I simply think that you deserve someone better for you,” Kitten murmured, anxiousness lacing his tone as he spoke quickly, almost too quietly to be heard by the man seated behind the desk. “You could have someone so much better than I- someone that knew the rules far better than I do… Someone without the connections to law enforcement that I have. You know how dangerous it is for me to continue being with you. I care far too much to let something happen to your…. Operation, due to my carelessness with our arrangement. Someone might see me entering or leaving the building, or find traces of your strain on my clothes after a particularly physical day together. What then?”

“Then I will go down in this world just as I have gone down on you each time we are together,” King concluded after a quiet moment of thought, pursing his lips as he stood as wrapped his arms around Kitten’s waist, pulling him close. “Tell me how I go down on you, my Kitten.”

“...You don’t?” Kitten replied, confused at the very question when the other man had never done such a thing to him. He had never taken kindly to being mixed up with his other lover, although he supposed that he was one to talk on that particular subject. Many a time, Kitten had found himself on the verge of screaming another man’s name in the midst of throes of passion with King. Although he expressed disgust at King’s tendency to moan softly, almost too softly to hear, a dead man’s name, he idly supposed that his own disposition might be the cause of that. “I’ve never once had you go down on me. You never used your mouth on me, King. Not that I can recall, through our short history together.”

“Precisely,” King replied, grinning against Kitten’s skin as he pressed his face against the other man’s neck in a devious manner. “I have never gone down on you, nor will I ever do such a thing- just as I will never go down. Not in the crime world, not in the history books, and most certainly not into a chair with electric wires sticking into a helmet as hundreds watch on in disgust and relief. I will never go down, and as long as you stay in my favor with that adorable face of yours, neither will you.”

“That’s very kind of you to offer,” Kitten began, voice tinged with uncertainty that resonated through the uneasy breaths in his empty chest. “But… I think that the best thing, for now, would be for me to leave your company. At least, just for the time being. The police know me too well, trust me too much- if this gets out, which I know for a fact that it will, I don’t want to be on the front page news for my part in it. I can’t… I won’t… People’s lives are at stake here, King. And I need to make sure that they make it to see another day.”

“Never stopped you before,” King pointed out, trailing kisses down the back of Kitten’s neck as he took the man’s words lightly, as if they were made of cotton candy that refused to stick to his fingers. “Now lean back and let me take care of you in the way you know only I can-”

“I don’t want that, though,” Kitten interjected, pulling away and turning to face King, making eye contact with the man for the first time to show red-rimmed eyes from crying the night before. “I can’t keep betraying the people I care about just for a fuck I don’t need anymore. The stress is gone, the hunt is over; I’m done with this. I’m done with you.”

“...Leave, then,” King spat, stepping back and not noticing as the back of his legs pushed back the rolling chair he always sat on. “Leave and never come back, if you know what’s good for you. I’ve lost my companions, I’ll just find new ones, ones that are more obedient and far more enchanting. But if I ever see you again, I will not hesitate to boast about my achievements with you. Now run along, and go play house with anyone unfortunate enough to be called yours. But you? You will always be mine, my Kitten.”


	14. Chapter 14

“Thanks for getting me out of those damned cuffs,” Thomas murmured, rubbing his red wrists in an attempt to soothe the burning aches from sharp metal edges of his previously held confines. “Those things hurt like a bitch, I swear, we should petition for more comfortable cuffs or some shit- the ACLU would fight for it, wouldn’t they-”

“Cut the crap, Jefferson,” Alexander spat, his partner’s last name sharp as threads of venom as they left his mouth. He tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, as he was prone to do in moments of panic, and glared down at the taller man. “Why the fuck are you in here, and why the hell do they think you’re the Kitten Killer or whatever bullshit name they came up with?”

“....Thomas,” The taller man corrected softly as he suddenly seemed to become infatuated with the scratches on the metal table he sat at. “My name is Thomas, not Jefferson. After all that we’ve been through, I would’ve thought that you knew my first name, for all the times you’ve said it. But now… You’re all business. Well, not entirely- your tie is backward.”

Without even an anxious glance down to the piece of clothing that Thomas had drawn attention to, Alexander popped open his briefcase, the locks clacking loudly through the empty room. “If you want me to be your lawyer in this- which I would assume that you do- I need you to answer my fucking questions, Jefferson.”

“Swearing in front of a client? Not too professional,” Thomas scolded, as though Alexander were simply a child that had put on their father’s suit and tried to go to work in the morning. “I had thought better of you, but apparently, that trust was misplaced. What a shame- I was just beginning to grow fond of you.”

“What. Happened?” Alexander asked again, eyes narrowing even further at his spite for having been ridiculed by a man that had been in handcuffs only a few minutes before. “If you don’t answer, I’m more than happy to call Washington and explain why one of his best lawyers won’t be in the office on Monday morning. Is that what you want?”

“...They saw me cornering some guy in an alleyway on Fifth Street,” Thomas explained quietly, his voice ashamed and losing the petulant tone that it had previously held. “I had a syringe and a knife on me, some rope in my car, too. They… They think I was gonna kill him, Alex. I would never do that, though; we’re both lawyers! I know the law well enough that it would never work, even if I had wanted to do something like that!”

“You had a knife and syringe on you? And you were cornering a guy in an alleyway? No wonder they think you wanted to kill him, that’s more than enough to convince a jury- especially if you were stuck with a god forsaken public defender,” Alexander scolded Thomas, fury bubbling in his chest at the very obvious stint of idiocy that Thomas had found himself in. “And on Fifth Street, of all places? What the hell were you doing there, Jefferson?”

“... I missed you..” The taller man whispered in a somewhat broken tone, shards of his heart slamming to the floor as he uttered those barely-audible words. “It’s been days since… Since I made that horrible, terrible fucking mistake. I wanted to try and fill that void, and… And I got into a fight. I swear, I wasn’t trying to… I wouldn’t… I missed you. Nothing compares to you- not all that drinking and fighting. Nothing. If I could take it all back, I swear, I would. And if I could make you believe that I truly l-”

“I don’t give a shit what you have to say to me,” Alexander spat, not particularly focusing on Thomas’s fragments of words that he’d interrupted. They couldn’t have been all that important, anyways, he figured as he began to speak again in that same low, threatening tone. “I don’t care that you missed me, I care that you were caught practically assaulting a man on one of the most popular streets for nightclubs. It’s a damn miracle that the man didn’t know how to fight back, or have friends with him, else you would’ve been in some deep shit… If you don’t consider this situation to be a fucking terrible one.”

“I know, I was being an idiot, and I’m well aware of the mess I’ve gotten myself into,” Thomas murmured, resting his head in his hands as he failed to muster up the courage to look Alexander in the eyes. It would far too cold a gaze for him to meet, and he had no intention of freezing an already broken heart. Ice shattered more easily than glass. “Just… Promise you’ll work on fixing this?”

“I can’t promise anything. Don’t answer any of their questions until tomorrow- I need to get the fuck back to bed,” Alexander responded coldly, locking his briefcase again and gripping it tightly as he left the room, door slamming shut as it locked behind him. He practically ran out of the room, hoping to free his mind as well as body of the tight confines. Cold, metallic corners closing in on his heart in a sharp, cutting manner… Too much.

However, such things did not seem to be too much for one Benedict Arnold, who was sprinting into the cramped breakroom, stopping dead in his tracks right as he was about to collide with Laurens. He smiled a quiet sort of smile, the type that leaves much to the imagination and nodded curtly at his superior. Reaching over for the mostly-full coffee pot and a styrofoam cup, he almost managed to grasp the former by the handle before Laurens stuck out his arm to halt his movements.

“I don’t suppose that you’ll be telling anyone your whereabouts in these past few hours?” Laurens asked accusingly as he half-glared up at the man before him. He took a step toward the man, pulling his arm back to his side but not retracting the nasty look. “We desperately needed you- since you’re one of the few people here that are authorized to fill out the paperwork needed for this case. But no, you were off playing hookie- look… I don’t want to be a dick about it, but we needed you. Where were you?”

Biting his lower lip, Arnold averted his gaze from the shorter man and tucked a coiled curl of hair behind his ear. “I had to run home, since my boyfriend needed me; I’m sure you can understand how needy lovers get during long hours at the station without even a call. He just needed me.”

“You left work. During what is possibly the most influential breakthrough in months. For a booty call?” Laurens questioned incredulously, eyes widening in spite at the man for his recklessness. “Is getting your dick wet seriously your only concern when we’ve just caught a serial killer?”

“N-no, Officer Laurens, sir!” Arnold hurriedly corrected himself, pulling himself back into formality as his cheeks flushed a rather vibrant shade of scarlet, even deeper than the lipstick marks on officer Schuyler’s collar. “I swear, it wasn’t for anything of that sort! My boyfriend just missed me so much, and I’ve been working on this case for so long, and he-”

“Do you honestly think that you’re the only officer or detective here that has had their fair share of screaming matches with their partners over this damned case?” At these words, Laurens nearly pushed Arnold in the chest, which would have caused him to fall backwards and onto the roughly carpeted floor. People would turn a blind eye to such action, as no one had particularly cared for Arnold, anyways.

But that’s not how an officer of the law should act, now is it?

“I have two partners that I’ve been forced to avoid for months on end because of the man in that metal box we call an interrogation room. You think you have it rough? You think your life is the only one that actually matters in the grand fucking scheme of things? Let me tell you, I could easily have one of your inferiors promoted to your position. The only reason we haven’t switched you out for an intern is that you’d be shit at remembering coffee orders. Now get out of my sight; I don’t have time for this shit.”

Nodding quickly, Arnold rushed out of the room just as quickly as he’d entered it, shoes scuffing up the carpet slightly with the haste in each step. With a sigh, Laurens refilled his mug with lukewarm office coffee, and was about to leave the break room, before he felt a hand on his shoulder, tugging him back slightly. He turned around to be faced with the one and only Angelica Schuyler, whose lips were pursed and painted a soft red-violet.

“You alright, sir?” She asked quietly, her usually harsh voice somewhat soft and, if one were a fool, they might even consider it to be gentle. “I know just how difficult it is to work with Arnold, and no matter what he tries to explain, he’s just- excuse my language- an asshole.”

“Your language is excused,” Laurens told her dismissively, waving his hand limply with disinterest as he attempted to turn away and head back to his office, once again stopped by Angelica’s hand. “...Is there something in specific that you wished to discuss? Because I really should be getting back to writing that press release- you know how the news has been about this case for the past couple months.”

“It’s… It’s my sister,” Angelica admitted, voice tinged with shyness like a tip of lace on the edge of a throw pillow. “She- when that man came in, to identify Charles Lee’s body… She thinks something about him could make him a possible suspect- maybe… Maybe an accomplice to the man we currently have in custody.”

“You think that we have a lead as to whom out killer’s partner was?” Laurens asked in a low voice, doing his best to keep quiet, lest an unwanted eavesdropper to overhear their conversation. At Angelica’s short, formal nod, Laurens bit his lip sharply and motioned for the woman to follow him. Without a backwards glance, he left the break room and made a beeline for his office, the click-clack of high heeled footsteps close behind him.

As he entered his office and set his hands on his desk, he heard the door close behind him and lock, the swishing of Schuyler’s skirt accompanying her steps to the opposite side of his desk. She stared at him with worried eyes, though she said no words to match the expression she donned. In a way, Laurens supposed, it was probably for the best. He raised his eyebrow expectantly after a moment of tense silence, hoping for the woman to speak, to explain herself, before they both wasted away in the office.

“...Eliza told me about the man that identified Lee’s body,” Angelica said slowly, her voice cutting through the silence like a dull knife. “He treated her rather rudely, said things that were less than pleasant, and… he seemed to know things that he shouldn’t. Made allusions to… To Alexander.”

“...I sincerely hope that we are thinking of different Alexanders…” John stated, although it was less a statement and more of a silent plea to the universe. “Eliza… There are plenty of Alexander's in this world, he must have been talking about a different one, it’s almost certain that some random man wouldn’t-”

“He didn’t name the man he spoke of,” Angelica interjected, a rare show of defiance against the man who held so much power over her in their careers. “But he… He told Eliza that she switched degrees, which she actually did in her Sophomore year, which usually isn’t easy. He also said that she’d done it because of someone. And… Eiza only switched because she’d been interning at a law firm, to major in law. Then Alexander happened.”

“...Find this man,” Laurens commanded, his expression blanking out into that of a man whose mind was on the edge of fury. “Find him and bring him here for questioning. If he resists, pull up some bullshit parking fines and get him in here for that. We need to interrogate him, or at least show Jefferson pictures of our perp. That’ll get him to open up real fucking quick.”

“We didn’t get him in our system,” Anglica admitted, suddenly becoming rather interested with the pattern on the carpeting of Laurens’s office. “He refused to be questioned, and… Well, to be frank, he’s not the man that troubles my thoughts on this case.”

“By all means, Schuyler, tell me whom you’re thinking of at this moment,” Laurens insisted, slightly irritated at the switch of topic, and his co-workers’ seeming inability to even keep track of names. Maybe they could go over security footage, though the cameras were low enough definition that they probably wouldn’t get very far unless the man had looked directly into the lens and held up a giant arrow pointing to himself. “...Well?”

“...Alexander,” Angelica murmured, hoping that her voice had been quiet enough that the officer would mishear it and assume she’d been speaking of another man, a man that Laurens wasn’t in a committed relationship with.

“Do you mean to tell me that you suspect Alexander Hamilton, my husband whom I love with all my heart, to be connected to the series of murders that’s been terrorizing the city?” Laurens asked, dread mixed with anger filling his voice- Alexander would never do something as heinous as commit murder. Alexander knew better, Alexander was smarter than that, Alexander was sweet and kind and loving and absolutely not a murderer. Sure, on occasion, he was known to be a cheating, lying whore, but that was different. Lafayette had called him an hour ago and explained that Alexander had earned his forgiveness, and that he deserved John’s, too.

But Alexander had hurt John before.

Memories of heartbreak at Lafayette’s words rushed through his mind, the last fragments of love being shattered into shards that cut Lafayette till he bled diamonds onto their bed. The bed that belonged to the two of them, now that Alexander had decided he’d found someone better. It was a King size, soft and plush, with lavender colored sheets and seafoam green pillows. Lavender because it was Lafayette’s favorite color, and the pillows were… They were Alexander’s. Past tense being emphasized, at least.

If you love someone, truly love them, the some things simply aren’t worth it. Going out with friends for a few drinks after work- that’s not quite worth it when you could instead spend a night in with your favorite people in the universe. The skies are always the limit, but when you’re seated on someone’s shoulders, you get just the slightest bit closer to that endless expanse of blue. Yet Alexander seemed as though he was too good for the stars, when he could instead shoot for the moon. Despite starlight shining almost as bright as John’s love for Lafayette and Alex, it always seemed as though it were too dim for the latter man.

One needs light for most everything- except for loving. Love can stretch past through the cold, empty darkness of nothing and shine into the world where there’s… Something. Something like an emptied sky into a bowl of soup made for you while sick. Something like a constellation in the sky when a different one had been there just moments before. Something like the universe holding you close no matter how much you wish for it to kiss you on the forehead. Instead, the galaxies swirl into your mind and paint themselves the smallest stray bit of forever over and over again until you can’t even tell where eternity ends and you begin.

Love isn’t enough for some people, no matter how dull the shine may be. When one sets pen to paper, they must have light to see what they are putting down onto parchment. They must know what part of themselves they are giving away to the world in order to have it immortalized. Alexander Hamilton was a man who so desperately craved immortality. As such, immortals have no true need for love, or even companionship more than a fleeting bit of entertainment.

So as John Laurens stared Angelica in the eyes, his narrowed and hers wide in sympathy, he came a revelation that even the least observant of readers must have inferred at this point. He spoke these words aloud, eyes suddenly widening to match Angelica’s as he fought back tears as bitter as wormwood.

“I’m not entirely sure that I know Alexander to the fullest extent…” John spat, tone suddenly much colder and far more sharp than it had been the last time he’d spoken. “He does not seem to be the sort of man who I’d accuse of assisting in multiple homicides, but… You’re my most trusted officer in this whole damn precinct. Normally, I would be forced to dismiss allegation of this severity, especially if they came from a scorned ex-lover. However, I’m more than willing to make an exception for you, Ms.Schuyler. I trust that you’ll take this with the utmost seriousness when you bring A-...Hamilton down to the station for the questioning. He might be headed to the metro at the moment, since he just got out of a meeting with Jefferson, but I’m sure he’ll be back tomorrow. No need to draw unnecessary attention to a public figure such as himself, especially when he’s already connected to the case-”

“I don’t think I understand, sir,” Angelica cut him off for the second time that day, either due to her layering confusion or lack of sleep, she wasn’t sure. “Are you… Are you asking me to arrest your husband, under suspicion of him being an accomplice to serial murder?”

“I’m not asking you to,” Laurens stated calmly as he walked around his desk and stood before Angelica, back fully straight, the paragon of an officer of the law as he spoke once more in an even, unnaturally cool tone. “I’m commanding you to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not posting last week, a close friend died and I had to sing in the choir at her funeral.  
> Her church is quite a ways away, and I had very little time to myself. Thank you for understanding, and if you wish to pray for her, her name was Pelagia.


	15. Chapter 15

“Unless you’re about to invite me to join,” Alexander called out, drawing attention over to him as he leaned against the open doorway with pink cheeks and an expression of cocky amusement. “I highly suggest that both of you get some pants on.”

Washington stood at his desk looking in charge as ever. Nothing about that fact was unusual, as that was typically Washington’s stance when he was faced with a particularly vexing situation. Though, when his cock was half-buried in one of his employees, with said employee being bent over the desk… That was more than what Hamilton had expected to see on a morning such as this one. None other than Aaron Burr looked up at Alexander with wide eyes, cutting off his own sounds of pleasure as he kicked Washington off of him and quickly tucked himself back into his trousers. Washington did much the same, thoroughly embarrassed before his expression turned to that of either intense irritation or quiet fury- Alexander couldn’t tell which one.

“Hamilton!” Washington spat with the menace in his tone plain as day. He straightened out his shirt, not remembering that it was half-open, or making effort to pull his jacket back on. With narrowed eyes, he stepped aside to give Aaron space to try and tug his clothing back on as he spoke again. “Please explain to me why you didn’t think it necessary to knock, which has been a well-enforced rule in our offices since day one.”

“Didn’t need to knock,” Alexander shot back, voice almost playful as he idly played with the rubber band on his wrist, snapping it gently as though it were more important than the situation at hand. “The door was wide open.”

“I-what?” Burr asked, voice hoarse from the screams he had been previously producing and allowing to ring out through the entire building. His eyes were wide in fear and rimmed with red from crying, presumably at the burn of being fucked as roughly as Alexander had seen, even for a brief moment. “I thought I locked it! You bitch, you unlocked it because you knew! George told me that you knew about us, but that you’d sworn to keep it on the down low, and now this shit? I… George, would you care to take control of the… situation? My buttons won’t cooperate…”

“Gladly,” Washington replied, unfazed by the shorter man’s usage of his first name, which was a detail that Alexander was sure to file away into his mind for later use. “Hamilton. You know that when you hear… sounds such as those, that the only thing you should do is leave. So why didn’t you do just that?”

“Well, my first thought was that my boss couldn’t possibly be having sex in his office, especially with the door wide open, and the main entrance unlocked so that anyone could have walked into the building,” Alexander began, sounding rather bored of the situation as a whole despite being quite the opposite. “So, since my curiosity is the only thing that outweighs my need to work, I decided to figure out just what that sound was. Turns out, my suspicions were correct- although, why didn't either of you lock the doors? What if your wives decided to stop by and bring you lunch? Or if one of your children stopped by after school for help with their-”

“You keep my family out of this,” Burr commanded, having finished focusing on his pants and glaring at Alexander through the corner of his eyes. “You of all people should know how difficult it is to get through the world when they have… Issues such as ours..”

“Issues?” Alexander asked as he felt the slight drag of heart being pulled back as the meaning of Burr’s words rang in through his mind, echoing words as if they were his own. He took a step toward Burr, glaring sharply and no longer as cocky as he had previously seemed to be. “Issues like homosexua-”

“Don’t you dare finish that word,” Washington cut him off with a voice sharper than Alexander’s eyes as they darted up to focus on the taller man. “You don’t get to ride in on your high horse and act as if you are any better than Aaron or I. You know what these urges feel like to have, how all-encompassing they are until you find someone to share the darkness with.”

“So that’s what we’re calling it now? Darkness?” Laughing bitterly, Alexander pulled his phone out from his back pocket and unlocked it, raising an eyebrow at the men behind the desk as his finger hovered over a button. “How about I call my husband, John Laurens, and tell him just what you think of our ‘darkness’? He probably won’t be all that pleased to hear it, what with being married to two same-sex partners. I’d even go as far to say that he would have a bit more than just resentment toward the two of you; I suppose he might do something drastic. Tell me, how well do you think you did the firm’s taxes this year? One slip-up could be considered purposeful, and-”

“Just tell us what you want and leave,” Washington spat, uncaring of what Alexander was attempting to threaten him with- some things must be kept secret. No matter the cost. Money could be easily replaced- a lawyer could, as well. Material goods and cash were things meant to trade hands, eventually. A career, however? The reputation of an upstanding public figure? Trust within a family, to one’s wife and children? Those things were not meant to leave the grasp of the worthy. “Money? A raise? Someone to bail you out of something? What is it going to take to buy your silence?”

“It’s quite simple, actually,” Alexander began, voice somewhat playful as he spoke slowly, almost in a taunting manner. “I don’t want your money, and I don’t particularly need a lawyer at this point in time. All that I want is some security, a reassurance, if you will.

“Security for what?” Washington asked, suspicion stringing along his mind like streamers that had been set aflame. He gently pushed Aaron to the side, reaching to press a kiss to his forehead and promptly remembering who else was in the room with them. Aaron mustered up a weak smile for his lover, grabbed his briefcase, and ran out of the room, freezing just for a moment when his shoulder brushed against Alexander’s. The door slammed shut behind him, and faint footsteps could be heard going down the staircase and out the main entrance.

“I’m sure you know by now that Jefferson is currently in police custody,” Alexander began, only to shut his mouth tightly at Washington’s wide-eyed expression of shock. “No? Well, now you do. He’s being accused of being that damned serial killer all of New York’s been bitching about. He called me last night, said he needed a lawyer, and I took on the case. However, I… I don’t think that I can handle the case. Not with Jefferson being the suspect. I need you to take on the case, and be his lawyer. There’s no one I can think of that’s a better defense lawyer than you, sir, and, to be frank, I don’t think you have much of a say in the matter. Either you do this one, teensy-weensy thing for me, or I spill this story to the press. Who do you think they’d believe, when I have all the evidence that I do?”

“You don’t have any proof,” Washington spat, his rapid heartbeat betraying his cutting words. “And even if you did, it wouldn’t be nearly enough. I’m not stupid enough to take that case- conflict of interest, to name one reason. If the city had enough evidence to arrest him and charge him with the crime, then I doubt even the most experienced of lawyers would be able to win that case. Not when all of the city is desperate to believe that the killer’s been found.”

“Funny how you said that I didn’t have any proof- do you really think I’d be enough of an idiot to attempt blackmail when I didn’t have a scrap of evidence to support my claims?” At these words, Alexander turned his phone screen to face Washington. The screen display showed a small timer that had gone for at least five minutes, and a red play button. “This is the voice memo app, one on every phone of this model. I started recording as soon as I realized what was going on in here- think I even got a picture or two. Might save them, frame them in oak and polished glass. Probably send a few to my friends, for keeping the memories alive. Whom should I start with? Patsy? Jack? The Theodosias? Martha?”

“Fine!” Washington shouted in desperation, trying to block the memories of Alexander’s words from entering his mind and finding a permanent place. He stared down at the glossy wood of his desk in defeat, hanging his head in silence before speaking in a quiet, shaking voice. “I’ll take the case- but you have to promise that if I do, you won’t spread the pictures, or video. Even if I lose the case, I… I can’t lose my family… Please, just give me your word, Hamilton…”

“Oh, George, I think you misunderstood,” Alexander replied teasingly, walking over to Washington and tapping on the underside of his chin as if he were simply an ignorant child. “I won’t spread the pictures if you lose the case. I’ll only spread them if you emerge triumphant.”

At these words, Washington’s eyes widened in realization and he raised his head to stare Alexander in the eyes as he spoke in a quiet, shaking voice. “Y-you… You need me to lose the case… b-because you’re… you… you…”

“Don’t be a fool,” Alexander cut him off dismissively, waving his hand. “Of course I’m not the Alley Cat Killer, idiot. In fact, I don’t particularly care who is. All I care about is Thomas Jefferson being locked away for a very, very long time.”

“You know he’ll probably sentenced to lethal injection, right?” Washington asked, incredulous. “He’ll be sentenced to death after a few decades spent rotting in solitary confinement, slowly driving him mad with each brick set in the wall of his prison. And that kindness would only be afforded to him if he pleads guilty. If he claims innocence and loses the case…I don’t think I’d be able to live with myself.”

“If your family finds out, they won’t be able to live with you,” Alexander pointed out coldly, without much concern for the morals of the older man. “So I suggest you head down to the police station right now and explain to Jefferson that his case is switching hands, but will be well taken care of. Have I made myself clear?”

 

“...As crystal,” Washington spat, reaching back and pulling on his jacket without making any effort to smooth out the wrinkles in the dark fabric. “...Why are you doing this? To me, to Aaron, to Jefferson? Why?”

“It’s quite simple, George,” Alexander teased, his employer’s first name rolling off his tongue in a strange way that he wasn’t quite sure he’d ever become accustomed to. “I’m a bad person. And what bad people do is make others take on their terribleness. Some people deserve it, others don’t. But I’ll let you be the judge of which one you are. Have a nice life.”


	16. Chapter 16

Sometimes, the world is silent.

A sort of quiet that can only exist on purpose, with two people allowing it to surround them and wrap round their lungs like ribbons. It won’t constrict their breathing, though. That is a different kind of silence. The sort of silence that makes it difficult to breathe, the one whose unspoken words bury under your skin until you have an unmanageable itch- that kind of silence is not true silence. Things best left unsaid hang heavy in the air, and words that are meant to be shouted aloud are never told to another until far too late. 

This silence was different than that. This silence was soft and gentle, like the bit of silence before a song begins, like the way a hummingbird’s buzzing only stops a moment after it lands. These silences feel different because they come from different parts of one’s mind. The part of one’s mind that contains nightmares woven from deathly strands of spider-silk? That is the part of a mind where deathly silence strikes worst. However, the part that makes your smell lavender and honeysuckle on a warm summer day, the part whose last heard noise was a soft hum of contentedness? That is the part where kind silence resides.

If one were to listen close, in these gentle sorts of silences, they would hear something beautiful beneath the nothingness. Perhaps not immediately, but after a moments or twelve, something would make itself obvious. It would not sing out, nor would it scream a deep, harrowing sort of scream. Instead, it would stick out its leg sharply, like a ballerina whose first performance was years away. It would peer out at you, and after a moment of the quiet it was comprised of, it would reach out and gently take you by the hand, squeezing gently. Their grip would smell like tea that had been brewed and promptly forgotten about, but the taste of wildflower honey would fill your mouth whether you wished it to or not.

So as Lafayette leaned forward and pulled Alexander back in for what must have been the millionth kiss that evening, he hummed in content. Not in joy, nor in the ecstasy usually brought with being in the same bed as his lover. It was simple, sweet, a broken off branch of a cherry tree that had been carried away by winds onto a beach with pale, warm sand. Alexander accepted the kiss eagerly, not making a single sound other than the gentle rustling of their lavender sheets, legs tangling further against Lafayette’s own as their minds twisted and turned around each small murmur of affection.

All good things must come to an end, as everyone is taught from a young age, and Alexander was more than aware of that when Lafayette pulled away from the kiss with a slightly concerned look. His hands still intertwined with Alexander’s he pulled up alex’s hand and pressed a gentle kiss to the knuckled. Wide brown eyes stared up lovingly at Alexander’s own, and he could have stayed like that forever. Lafayette’s lips on his skin, a soft silence around their chests and minds, and the silent movements of the hands of the clock on the wall not bothering either of them. Lafayette had something to say, though. 

“I called John…” Lafayette whispered softly, averting his gaze as he uttered those three small words. Usually, when it came to speaking three specific words to Alexander, it was ‘I love you’ or ‘you forgot something’, ‘something’ being a sweet kiss pressed to his forehead before he left for work. Three words were wonderful, so all-encompassing lovely. Just not in the sort of context that they were in at that very moment.

“You called him,” Alexander replied, unsure of whether those new three words were to be phrased in a statement or rather a question. Nevertheless, they left his mouth almost immediately, and his expression became as puzzling as his tone. “You called John. About what?”

“We both know why I called him…” Lafayette whispered, voice still as quiet as it had been when he’d first spoken. Now, the three word pattern (if one would call it that) had been broken and tossed aside by the very men whose minds had created it. “It was about you. We… I… He… You’re still on his black list. I’m not sure exactly how he feels about you at the moment, but I’m sure that it isn’t in a positive way. If we could just get the two of you to talk to each other again, I’m sure we could work something out and we could be together again-”

“He was so quick to leave me so you think he’ll be quick to join our relationship again if it includes me?” Alexander asked, not noticing that he had cut Lafayette off mid-sentence. He pulled away from Lafayette’s warm grip, from the welcoming silence that had previously held them so close, so lovingly. “John leaves me and now you're trying to be the one to pick up the pieces? Lafayette, you need to learn that some things are better left in the control of John and me. Not you.”

“So since it’s a matter of our relationship, it shouldn't concern me?” Lafayette asked, raising an eyebrow impatiently, casting aside the affection he’d been waiting to bestow upon Alexander. “It’s our relationship. Not yours and John’s plus me. I’m just as much in our marriage as you are, as non-legal as it may have been. Or do you think our rings mean connection to only one person?”

“No- I… Lafayette, our marriage means a lot to me, you know that. Just… When it comes to me and John being together, it’s really not your buisness,” Alexander told him, careful to choose his words as considerately as possible. “Laffy, I… You know how much we care about you-”

“Care about?” Lafayette repeated, tears finding their way into his eyes like striking diamonds unexpectedly in a coal mine. “Not love, I see. You care about me, just in the same way that you care about your computer, or your cable TV. Sure, it matters to you, but in the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t really matter. Because if you lost it? So what! You wouldn’t be devastated, or even more than just a bit upset.”

 

“That’s not true!” Alexander shouted, flinching at his own volume as he had expected the words to come out in a much softer tone. Sitting up, he gently grasped Lafayette's hand, ignoring how Lafayette half-heartedly attempted to pull away from the grip. “I love you more than almost anything. You should know that, not consider yourself at the same level in my heart as material goods.”

“Almost anything. You love me more than almost anything- because you love John more than me,” Lafayette whispered in realization ad he pulled away from Alexander sharply and sat up, curling into a ball facing away from the other man in order to hide the quiet sobs that wracked his entire body. “Just say that you love John more than you love me, and I’ll leave it alone- just tell me what I already know to be true and I’ll pack my bags and leave, just like you want me to. Like you’ve always wanted me to do…”

“Lafayette, I could never say a lie as stupid as that,” Alexander whispered, wrapping his arms around Lafayette in a tight hug, holding him as close as he possibly could. Frowning softly as he felt Lafayette’s sobs vibrate through their bodies, he tightened his grip, reaching forward and wiping away a tear that had fallen down Lafayette’s cheek. “I love you so much, so much it hurts, my love. I call you that for a reason, you know. You are my love- where all my love comes from and where all of it will find a home. You are my every reason for waking up in the morning, for pulling these purple sheets off my shoulders. Because if I do that, I’ll be just a bit closer to you when I hold you in my embrace on these frigid New York City mornings. Without you there for me to hold in my arms, my grasp would be so, so empty. Not sure how I’d fill that void you left if I was all alone in this world. In fact, I’m not entirely sure how I’d manage to go on…”

“You don’t really mean that…” Lafayette whispered, his tears not ceasing in their tracks down his cheeks, but slowing down, so that only a few stray gemstones scattered down his cheeks. “You would still have John if I was no longer in your life. I’m just another way to forget that John can’t always be with you, just another thing to fill the void that John, not Lafayette, left in your soul….”

 

Before Alexander could speak something, anything, to show Lafayette just how much his words were wrong, just how much love he had for the taller man, his phone began ringing loudly, a shrill tune. Biting his lip, he glanced over at it as he realized exactly who was calling. That specific ringtone was reserved for one man, and only his and Lafayette’s calls could go through when Alexander’s phone was on Do Not Disturb, as it was now. John Laurens was calling Alexander at this late hour, which in hindsight made since, since John had been unable to come home all day, apparently being swamped with work down at the station. Not that the man had bothered to call. His freckled connected from his mind to his heart like stars, but not constellations. Constellations held stars to other meanings, other purposes. John only seemed to be concerned with a few, which was strange; Alexander had always been the one to work himself half to death.

“...I need to take this call, it’s John, and I haven’t heard from him all day,” Alexander whispered quietly, pulling away from Lafayette’s warm body as he bit his lower lip and reached over for his phone. He accepted the call and tucked aside the hair that had been blocking his ear as he greeted the other man, trying to ignore Lafayette’s defeated look. “John! Where have you been? Laf and I were worried sick about you, and we only got a text this morning that you wouldn’t be home until late, but it’s almost eleven. I know that you don’t want to talk to me right now, but please...”

Lafayette glanced over at Alexander and shook his head softly, which was all Alexander would need to be able to tell that Lafayette hadn’t received so much as a text from their other lover. He would have noticed, and acted accordingly, but as he was not focusing on his lover in bed with him, he made no movements, instead setting his mind on John’s words. 

“Look, I don’t really have that much time to talk right now,” John replied, not bothering with a greeting, or an apology for the lack of contact in the past couple of days. “There’s a whole shit-ton of paperwork I have to fill out, and I’m writing a report as I speak, so I won’t be able to talk much. I need you down at the station, like, right now. I can’t really explain why, but please say hello to Laf for me, okay? I wasn’t able to talk to him yet today, and yo0u of all people know how needy he gets when you have to focus on other stuff.”

“I can’t come to that station right now, actually,” Alexander retorted, voice taking on an edge as he realized just how little his lover cared for Lafayette in that moment. John was upset with him, so it wouldn’t have made sense to talk to him if he was simply looking for a booty call downtown, which was usually the topic of their work-heavy night conversations. Lafayette would have been a better choice for such a thing, considering that the freckled man would be more likely to tolerate his presence than Alexander’s. “I’m busy keeping Lafayette company. I only just recently got back in his good graces, and intend on taking full advantage of that fact. Besides, I already handed off Jefferson’s case to Washington- he should have been down there today to tell you as much, anyways. If not, surprise! Washington’s taking the case!”

“Look, Alex, I really just need you here right now- it doesn’t matter whether or not you’re taking Jefferson’s case, we have bigger problems to handle at the moment,” John tried convincing Alexander, ruffling his hair slightly in frustration at Alexander’s inability to agree without a single question. Sure, Alexander Hamilton had never been known for his ability to go along with any situation, no questions asked, but he almost never put up such a fight- especially not for one of his lovers.

“Is it a problem bigger than Lafayette desperately needing cuddles?” Alexander asked, leaning against Lafayette’s back and pressing a kiss t the back of his neck, eliciting a soft giggle. “Because, if I’m being honest here, I don’t think that there’s a more pressing issue in the world than this one. He’s so cold right now, since our blankets are in the dryer right now. He needs someone to keep him warm tonight, and since you’re busy at work, I’ll have to suffice.”

“Alexander, this is really important,” John pointed out, impatience rising in his chest, causing him to sit up more firmly than he had been previously. “It’s not a matter of me missing you- although I certainly do miss you. This is a matter of safety of all the people in the city. It’s a huge deal, and without you here, I’m not sure it’ll go through. Just… See you in half an hour? Please? I could lose my job over this...”

Sighing softly, Alexander mumbled a quiet agreement, hanging up as he sat up and hugged Lafayette tightly, his chest pressing against the taller man’s back. Just as quickly as he’d entered the embrace, Alexander pulled himself away from it, and pulled himself to the edge of the bed. Tugging on his shoes, he spoke in a gentle voice, trying his best not to cause Lafayette any more worry than he had already.

“I’ll be back soon, love- it’s a matter of John keeping his job or not,” Alexander explained, standing up and grabbing his jacket. As he shrugged it on, smoothing out the small wrinkles, he glanced over at Lafayette. Instead of seeing an uncomfortable man, whose lip was red from being bitten to hold back words, Alexander saw something entirely different and entirely heartbreaking.

Lafayette stared down at the nightstand, where his golden wedding ring lay, shining in the dim light of their bedroom. The metal glimmered beneath the yellow lighting of their ancient lamp, almost with as many bits of light caught on it as the tear stains tracking down Lafayette’s dark cheeks. His gaze did not stray from the small circle of metal, not even as he flinched when Alexander took a few small steps toward him, to console him, to reassure him how important he was, how loved he was-

His pleas of forgiveness would fall on deaf ears, were they to be spoken aloud. So instead, Alexander leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Lafayette’s forehead, coarse curls scratching against his lips as he pulled away. As he left through the front door, not bothering to lock it, he felt his heart sink with the weight of John’s request. In truth, the weight upon his heart was not caused by John’s actions- any man would be able to know that his own actions were the only ones able to weigh down his heart. Alexander was not any man, however. Instead, he tied his hair back into a ponytail, and headed down the staircase to the building’s lobby, and left.

At this hour of night, Alexander was well aware that no metro trains would be running, and most of them would be full of lunatics that had no qualms about mugging him. So instead of heading toward to nearest station, he hailed a cab, which was miraculously just where he needed it at that moment. Entering the back door, he stated his destination and laid back, letting the world slip by in a blur of lights and sounds.

It was only when the cabbie turned right where he most certainly should have turned left that Alexander realized something was very, very wrong. He sat up and looked around the cab as he pointed out to the driver that he’d taken a wrong turn and needed to turn back. The seats weren’t nearly as filthy as most cab seats were, and the screen separating him from the driver was nothing more than a duct taped plastic tarp with a small slit in the bottom for speaking.

“I know where I’m going,” The driver told him, hitting the gas pedal and speeding down the empty side road, one that Alexander had never seen before. “My name is Samuel Seabury. And we’re headed to the office of the most powerful man in New York City.”


	17. Chapter 17

In moments such as these, Alexander was grateful for the existence of nightmares.

Some things in the world were entirely too horrible to even comprehend, so grotesque in their existence that it frightens the observer into the nothingness of terror. The world closes in on them, so suffocatingly tight that deep breaths seem as though they were a cruel joke the universe made up. For its own amusement, the horror seeps through one’s fingers at first, causing jitters and half-shakes throughout one’s hands. It shoots up your arms like molasses-lightning, sharp and cutting despite its speed (or lack thereof). Then, it travels up to your mind, twirling and twisting around it and building pathways where one could not have even thought them to be possible. That, however, is not where is ceases in its path. Instead, it finds a way down to your lungs and heart, sinking thorns in like stray rose bushes from the garden of your mind that is now a flaming fury.

Nightmares were the sort of fear that filled children’s minds at the spotting of ajn out of place shadow in their bedroom in the late evening hours. Nightmares were nothing more than overactive figments of one’s imagination, nothing else could have possible been comprised of something so entirely fearful. They had no place in reality, nor did any of the feelings nightmares brought along with it.

So maybe things didn’t need to be as real as they seemed to be. After all, why take in the entire situation when instead, one could call it a nightmare and be done with the whole of it? Reality was too true, too sharp against one’s tongue when they attempted to desire something and properly convey just how it felt. Nightmares were easier for one’s mind to grasp onto. Why would you attempt to hold onto a bit of wet plastic when instead a leather glove would fit -perfectly into your hand? Grounding and oh so real were the nightmares, although when they were occurring, they had no right to be such a thing.

That, Alexander decided, was why nothing could have possibly made sense. The world was now a nightmare. It explained why Lafayette had been so distraught, it explained why he had been effectively kidnapped by his cab driver, why John hadn’t wished to speak to him up until it meant his job was on the line, why everything was all too wrong to be real in any way shape or form. Nothing needed to be real. This was all just a terrible dream- and that was why nightmares were so beautiful, in their own way. Nothing at all needed to be justified other than ‘it was all just a dream’.

In fact, Alexander supposed as he tugged at the ropes on his wrists that were surely a piece of his thought, this could all just have a poorly written novel idea. Those came to him while he slept sometimes, and this was just another one. It would end with the protagonist awakening, as though the entire story had simply been a nightmare. Those plot twists, though, were no good at all. A true plot twist pulls the rug out from under the characters, not the readers, and awakening from a dream was no true surprise. It was just a cheap gimmick when a writer could think of no other ideas than a cheap cop-out that all children relied upon in their first piece of original fiction.

So then why couldn’t Alexander wake up? If this were all a dream- and a rather horrid one, at that- then how come his wrists were sore from tugging against his bindings? Why in the world would a dream allow him to become tired other than a reason for his arms to fall off, with him going along with it calmly. In fact, Alexander was quite attached to his arms, both in the literal and emotional sense.

The world was clear-cut, and if he focused on the puddles on the ground below him, he could almost make out his reflection- something he’d never been able to do in a dream. Although faint and dark, it was clearly his face- unkempt beard and sunken in eyes in all their glory. If he truly tried, he could almost hear the squeaking of rats in the high ceiling beams above his head. Nightmares were not vivid- nightmares came in blurs and messes of spilt paint over cobblestone memories of quiet mornings yet to come. This couldn't be real, though.

None of those could be real in the slightest way. It just didn't make any sense; that much, Alexander was sure of. However, whenever his mind trailed back to thoughts of the cabbie’s face and sly smirk as he pulled the car into an alley and trapped a still-in-shock Alexander into handcuffs, the metal biting at the fragile skin of his wrists. His wrists had been red before, from long nights and days spent crouched over his laptop, the edges digging into his flesh. Yet that sort of pressure was a different kind, one that was not as present as the handcuffs had been.

Maybe, just maybe, a few things could be real. The floor beneath his feet, with ankels tie tightly to the legs of his chair? That just might be real. Each speck of dust and fleck of scum on the dark wood was too precise to be thought up by his unconscious self. The floor wasn’t much, and that, just at the very least, could be a little bit grounding. Alexander laughed bitterly at the unintentional pun, the false joy sour on his tongue like too much lime in a recipe that called for lemons.

However, if the ground beneath him existed, then everything else had to exist, as was how existing typically worked. If one thing in a room was plausible, however unlikely it seemed, then every other thing that was possible must also be true. The ceiling above him? That was entirely possible, just as much so as the floor, so that had to be real. The squeaking of rats that skitted across beams and corner, sound echoing through the building as time passed on? That too, had to exist. Soon enough, with such logic as this, Alexander finally concluded that this was no nightmare, or wayward daydream he’d concocted over the duration of the long, boring cab ride that took far too long.

Alexander swore aloud, uncaring of if someone were to overhear his words. After all, anyone near would either be a surprise rescuer, or the very reason he was tied to a chair with too-strong rope. He was unsurprised at the slight dampness on his wrists , directly below where the rope was tied to his skin. After all, if one were to tug against it as harshly as he had, their skin would be in no good condition. Nevertheless, he pulled against the rope with even more force, hoping that simple tugs would be enough to free at least one of his hands from the confines. As a chill blew through the room, as it did occasionally in the few hours that Alexander had spent in the place, his wrists went frozen cold, the liquid chilling far more quickly than he would have liked it to- which is not at all, mind you.

Despite Alexander’s efforts in trying to figure out if his surroundings truly surrounded him, his train of thought was struck off its rails as the door burst open and a man walked through. His white-blonde hair was nearly blinding in the light that streamed in from behind him, as if lamps were shining in the hall he’d been led through, blindfolded uip until he was tied to his chair. The man’s eyes were dark, not with pigment, but instead with a quiet sort of fury, and they were narrowed so that each bit of emotion was aimed at Alexander. It was almost impossible to truly see the man, with the sudden shift of darkness to light, and the intensity of his gaze. However, Alexander lifted his head and with wide eyes focused on the sight before him, listening intently for a word that he did not hope to miss.

Instead of speaking, the man simply strolled through the doorway, not bothering to close it behind him as his footsteps echoed through the mostly empty room. He reached out to flick up a lightswitch that Alexander hadn’t noticed before in the dark, and within an instant, brightness flooded the room like the spray of a hurricane that inflicts wrath all at once. Alexander shut his eyes as soona s he felt the brightness, though it did nothing to shield his eyes from the sudden shift in overall visio. His eyes burned with the pin-sharp light, closed eyes not doing much, as he could still sense the room’s changing.

With his eyes closed, all Alexander could do to infer things about the man that had entered was listen closely, and listen is exactly what Alexander did. When his hands were not busy writing fast enough to catch fire to the paper, and his eyes were not occupied with words, he could listen. Briefly, he remembered a small tune that Eliza had sung, in a morning long ago where she wore one of his shirts and nothing more as she stood over the stove, making breakfast for the two of them after an exhausting night.

‘You’ve got the talking down,’ she’d sung, voice smooth like honey dripping onto a raspberry. ‘Just not the listening.’ In that moment, Alexander had wrapped his arms around her from behind, burying his face against her neck, smiling at the soft tickling sensation brought on by the coarseness of her hair against him. Her soft giggles of surprise and the sizzling of the pan and Alexander’s soft chuckles had wrapped around them in those few moments, sound broad despite barely being there. Now, though, as he sat tied to a chair with bleeding wrists and blinding light on all sides- nothing.

Nothing more than aimless footsteps filled the room, rats having scurried off into another crook of the building as soon as the lights were turned on. Instead of worried pacing-as would be expected of a kidnapper- or purposeful, sharp steps… nothing. A man like Alexander needed something, anything, as long as it was there, with him. A world where silence was barely a memory, and he couldn’t see, couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything else except open his mouth and whisper in a shaky, low voice-

“Are you going to kill me?” Alexander, in that moment, decided not to open his eyes. He was well aware the squinting them open would make him able to see once more, but when fear ran through him as it did in that moment, he had no desire to set his gaze upon something terrible. Maybe he could think of only pleasant thoughts instead- yes, that would do quite nicely. Lafayette waking him up with peppered kisses and wiping away salty tears from nightmares a world away. John’s small smile when he was surprised with flowers before he began to cry with emotion flowing through him. The way sunlight cured onto Lafayette’s coiled hair like strands of stray gold that had found their way to something far more precious than they could ever be. Counting John’s freckles and collapsing into a mess of laughter when he eventually gave up on what would most definitely be impossible. Kisses and making love on a lazy Sunday morning and waking up a second time to the smell of cinnamon rolls and maple sugar and-

“I have no desire to sink to your level, Hamilton,” The man replied, voice slightly higher than Alexander had expected of a man responsible for such a fate as he found himself faced with. “Or should I say Alexander? No, no, that would be all too improper of me! I know everything about you, Hamilton, everything that I couldn't possibly discover without spending a day disguised as you. I haven’t even introduced myself yet, oh my, these manners have not gotten any sharper since I moved to your filthy country! My name is my business, and mine alone, but you may call me King. Everyone calls me that, anyways.”

“...Why am I here?” Alexander asked, voice as shaky as it had been before, although now it happened to be curled around his lungs in a way that was more than suffocating, more than tiring, more than deadly. He had no desire to find out just what it was. “What did I do to deserve any of ?”

“Oh, you should be well aware of those things, dear Lexy,” King taunted, cocky as before. He took another step toward Alexander, the sound rippling through his memory- and when one experiences what they think will be their last, a strange sort of thing happens.

Their entire universe, galaxies and star systems and worlds of all kinds, are condensed into a small puddle. Memories melted into melded metal of their mind and nothing new is to be created when surrounded by ancient artifacts. Each word, however, that worms into the mess the mind has created upon itself finds a small pathway, just for it and nothing more. It seals the door and makes sure that nothing more can find its way through, setting flame to the blaze once known as open space. After each and every single space has been filled, it becomes condensed, so much so that once a new opening frees up, the next thing to enter is entirely too overwhelming to comprehend. So, if one were to throw a shard of glass directly into their brain stem, perhaps they’d be able to properly understand how Alexander felt in that very moment, King’s steps far more than he could handle.

“...No?” King asked after a moment of silence, the tenseness of which couldn’t be cut through with any sort of dulled knife. “You haven’t the faintest idea of why you’re in here, tied to a chair so tightly that your arms begin to bleed? Bleed like you made my dearest Charles do in his final moment on this Earth of ours?”

At that moment, a strangled gasp left Alexander’s throat, like a snake slithering out of his lungs after weighing down his chest for as long as it had. Someone knew, someone knew and had instructed others to kidnap him for his own amusement and purposes, meaning that others most likely knew. How long would it take before the entire city knew? The whole state? What about the country, the world, even? How long would word of mouth take to find its way to the captain of police, or his husband? 

Not long at all. So with a suppressed sob of anguish, Alexander balled his hands up into tight fists and squinted his eyes open, doing his best to not allow watered eyes turn into tears streaming down his face. His dark eyes trailed up in their haze to the figure of a man that he bad become well accustomed to, both from bits and pieces of overhead cases and John’s case files left splayed out on the coffee table late at night. Standing before him was none other than the infamous mob boss, King. 

An immigrant, just like himself, but one that had taken a path much easier to climb to success within. King had made a reputation for himself, having become a regular Al Capone- both in the sense of his infamy, but also the fact that there was no blood on his hands. He had never been convicted of murder, although his charges of such a crime had been accused and promptly dropped a multitude of times within his career. ALways, another man was the one to step forward in court and take credit and accountability. Always, King would smile and nod, speaking only in half-truths through the entire court proceedings. Once, Alexander had been asked by John to come in and chat with the state prosecutors, to discuss what charges an unknown man were to be properly sent to prison for. 

None, had been Alexander's answer, after nearly half az month of careful deliberation. No singular crime was directly committed by the man, aside from the occasional arrival in court with a white smudge below his nose, stuck to his upper lip just the slightest bit. Possession of illegal substances was almost a given, but as he’d never been strip searched (the damned man knew the law just a bit too well), and he’d never led an undercover agent to his headquarters, no one had any solid proof of such accusation. That, of course, didn’t stop any prosecutors from trying their damndest to have the man sent away.

Friedrich Von Steuben had been a notable figure in the cases against King, and Alexander could vaguely remember his brief appearance on Law & Order after his rise to fame from the cases. Von Steuben had been the man responsible for 12 counts of first degree homicide, 6 counts of armed assault, 7 counts of distribution of illegal substances, and 1 case of armed robbery all of them against King. Steuben had almost been successful in his attempts, going so far as having evidence of King’s DNA at the crime scene of one of the victim’s death. Having tied all the deaths together in a convincing speech, Stuebe almost guaranteed King’s conviction of a life sentence.

That would have been what happened, had it not been discovered by some dickhead reporter that Baron Friedrich Von Steuben was not only lacking in a noble title, but also a valid law degree. The cases had been declared a mistrial, and rescheduled with a new prosecutor. Of course, the evidence had all either been ‘accidentally’ destroyed, or lost in the possession of offices that were nothing more than careless. At least, that’s what the public had been told. Alexander, though? Alexander knew better. If he were to close his eyes again, he could almost be able to remember the tone in JOhn’s voice as he ranted through the night, practically chugging down each drop o beer that he could get his hands on. By the end of the night, the floor had been coated in broken glass, and Lafayette had to buy a broom and half a grocery cart full of gatorade in the morning.

If he were to close his eyes, though, Alexander would be forced to take his eyes off of the an before him- and he had no such intentions of doing so. King’s piercing eyes were sharper than his words had been, skin so pale one might have called it metallic in its sheen. If Alexander toe his gaze away from king, then who would be forced to look upon such a sight? No one, that was who. Yet somehow, Alexander kept his focus on those small barely-visible wrinkles on his forehead and between his blonde eyebrows.

“....I don’t know anyone named Charles,” Alexander spat, almost tasting blood in his mouth as he spoke and when had his mouth begun to bleed? “Never have, probably never will. It’s not a very common name here, or back on Nevis. Met a Carlie once while exchanging insurance information after getting hit by his car, but I don't think that’s what you meant, is it?”

“Oh, Alexander,” King chided, as though the man in the chair was nothing more than a disobedient child before him, awaiting punishment for something he hadn’t known was a wrongdoing. “If you want to play dumb, we can most certainly play- all you had to do was say the word! Tell me how do you prefer to play? Blades or whips?”

At those words, Alexander became all too aware of the glint in King’s eyes, which now reflected off onto the metal blade he held in his graos. Turning away, he only turned more pale as he recognized the leather strands laid down on the wood floor below him. His eyes widened, then, and he swallowed a breath he hadn't known he’d been holding back. Looking back up at King, who was now closer -when had he gotten closer?- Alexander whispered a soft few words, eyes beginning to tear up far more than when the light had ambushed them.

“Please don’t… Please don’t hurt me…” Alexander begged in his murmurs, tone even shakier than an earthquake in California. “I-I’ll give you a-anything, do anything for you, King… I swear, just… Just let me go… Just please let this be a nightmare, please let me go home to my husbands, let me hold them in my arms one last time…”

“The police report said that Charlie was stabbed multiple times, but not at all in any of the major arteries. No, that comfort was not afforded to him in his last hours of life. Instead, it seemed as though measures had been taken to ensure a slow, bloody, painful death for him. You should know all about it, shouldn’t you? I don’t particularly think that killers forget a man as enigmatic as my Charlie, even if he was just another piece of jerk-off fuel,” King idly spoke, no clear pathway in his words as they twisted round Alexander’s mind.

“I’m not a killer…” Alexander whispered, the foul smell of desperation permeating the air around him, which was already stuffy and hot from all the time he had spent in here, alone. How long had he been in here? How long had it been since he last spoke to his dearest Lafayette and promised to return home soon? When had he answered John’s call and swire to be at the police station within the hour? “I’d n-never do that to someone, c-can’t imagine… can’t imagine what would drive a man to murder a stranger…”

 

“Really?” King asked sarcastically, rhetoric lacing his voice like a wedding cake’s icing details. “So you agree, a man whose enemy is known is perfectly understandable in his motives toward murder? Because I know exactly how that feels. I know how it feels to see man you know so well, see him going about his day as if nothing’s wrong and… And you want to make something wrong for him? For all the things he’s done wrong for you, it’s only fair to just… Return the favor? Tell me I’m wrong, Alexander.”

“You’re wrong,” Alexander spat, tearing his gaze back into King’s own, no longer fearful (although such was not the state of his mind), but instead a soft kind of defiance. The sort of defiance one feels when they cross the crosswalk despite not being supposed to. Sure, no cars are coming, and the streets are quiet, but those teenage footsteps still race across pavement like the vehicles themselves- still scared. But almost brave. Almost. “You’re so, so wrong. No killing could ever be justified. Not that of a stranger, nor that of a deserving victim.”

“...Very well,” King sighed, setting a hand on Alexander’s shoulder and pressing harshly enough that it began to sting with pain. You have no inclinations toward sharing your true motive, and that’s perfectly fine. This isn’t the first time I’ve carved an answer out of a man, and it certainly won’t be the last. Say my name when you’re ready to tell me the answers I want to hear. Until then… It’s time for us to have some fun.”

The only sound to fill the room after those words were broken sobs, interrupted only by screams.


	18. Chapter 18

It had been nearly a month since Alexander Hamilton was last seen in person. Not a soul had admitted to having set eyes on the man in the past thirty days, but everyone had seen his photograph. It had been nearly a month since Alexander Hamilton was labeled a wanted man, with his capture promising a reward of more cash than most people made in a year. Many had tried, but none succeeded in finding the elusive man whose story was being run on the news over and over and over again.

After all, it was not every day that the captain of police put out a warrant for the arrest of his husband.

Most everyone had been shocked when they heard the address given by officer Laurens on that fateful, windy morning. His face had been stoic, his eyes pricked with needles of teardrops that threatened to fall and trail down into the fountain behind him- the one right in front of City Hall. Voice steady and far colder than the air around him, he had talked calmly, not asking a single question in his speech, nor avoiding any questions from the press.

“I am happy to report that we have not only captured the man known as the Alley Cat Killer,” He’d said, forcing a slight replica of a smile onto his face, for those happy-go-lucky bullshit news sites. “But we have also managed to name and begin the search for his accomplice: Alexander Hamilton. Many of you may know Hamilton as the remarkable lawyer that has made a reputation for himself in this fine city, rising up from nothing and finding comfort in a world the refused him such a thing in his childhood. However, other may know him as my husband, which, with a heavy heart, I must admit to be true. 

“The man we are searching for is Hamilton, and the anonymous tip line is always open for any potential sightings or tips. All calls are confidential, and the contents of such calls will not be broadcasted in any way, shape, or form.” At those words, an officer standing next to Laurens pulled a sheet off of the rectangular canvas resting on a board. The picture was of a dark-haired man with bags under his eyes and marking violet onto his tan skin. It was obviously a DMV picture, the blue-green background familiar to any residents of the city, and the man in the photo was clearly none other than Alexander Hamilton. Taking in a deep breath that might have been a heavy sigh, officer Laurens pointed at the picture with his gloved hand. 

“This is Alexander Hamilton. He is roughly five feet, ten inches tall. He can typically be found wearing a dark green coat, and may have cut his hair or shaved his beard. We ask that even if you think you have seen a glimpse of the man, you contact the anonymous tip line immediately, with the location and what he was wearing. Once again, all calls are entirely confidential. At this time, the identity of the Alley Cat Killer themself will not be revealed, nor will their lawyer’s identity. The trial will be one week from now, on the 31st, at the courthouse. Thank you for your time, and may god bless the state of New York. Now taking questions.”

Just like that, it was as though a riot had been incited. Reporters from Fox News to the Huffington Post had attended, and each one lifted their arm into the air like impatient schoolchildren and did their best to speak over the others in the crows with them. Notepad papers flew into the breeze, some with but the simplest of notes, others with fragmented outlining of an article, and even a few with the entirety of the speech written down. None of them seemed to care about their lost papers, though. Instead, all they cared for were their own questions, and made a point to yell as loudly as they could.

In the end, it was an NBC reporter that Laurens ended up pointing at, listening intently to their words, and doing his best to come up with an answer that they'd gone over during the meeting before the speech. He’d been asked every practice question possible, and thought himself rather well-rehearsed in answering coolly. However, people tend to think better of themselves than they truly are.

“Officer Laurens,” The NBC reporter shouted, trying to be heard over the crowd of young writers trying to make their ‘big break’. “Do you think that your connections to Alexander Hamilton might create conflict of interest?”

“Not at all,” Laurens replied, speaking sternly enough into his microphone that at least a bit of the reporters quieted down in their haste to write an article out of nothing more than a short speech and announcement of a manhunt. “I believe that my ability to be impartial will win over, and I only speak the truth. I will be testifying as a witness in court on the 31st and I intend to say the oath with nothing less than absolute certainty in my abilities of allowing truth to prevail. In addition, I will not be the acting prosecutor- instead, that honor has been given to James Madison, a man that went to the very same law school as the defendant. Next question? You, in the orange.”

The reporter in orange pushed herself to the front and held up a voice recorder, which would most likely pick up more on the chaos than it would of Laurens’s words. “Thank you, officer- is there any reason why the case is being pushed up to so soon a date? Typically, in cases such as these, with a suspected accomplice, the trial is postponed until the ‘accomplice’ is found and able to give testimony, or a plea deal.”

“In most cases, yes, that is exactly what happens,” Laurens stated, as if his reasons were the most obvious things in the world, and that only a fool would require clarification. “But this is not just any case. Due to the new laws that will be put in place starting January first of next year, some of our crucial evidence will be declared unfit for court. In order to prevent that from happening, we decided that it would be best to set the court date for the 31st and hope for the best in terms of progression of the case.”

“But sir!” The reporter interjected, preventing Laurens from choosing another person to answer the questions of. “Isn’t that unethical? Police are required to protect and serve, and is a bending around laws truly the best way to serve the public? What if the evidence truly is circumstantial, and the defendant is innocent?”

“One question per person, please,” Laurens reminded them, and turned around to look at the person that had been tugging at his shoulder rather insistently ever since he’d answered the question. Upon shifting his gaze, he found himself face to face with none other than benedict Arnold, the fuckface that couldn’t be trusted with a bike lock in terms of security. How he’d passed the academy, Laurens would never understand.

“Sir, perhaps it would be best if someone else were to take over answering the questions,” Benedict suggested in a hushed tone, keeping his voice directed away from the microphones on the top of the podium. His hands were restless, and it seemed as though the man could burst at any moment from hyperactivity, anxiousness, hope, or a grotesque mix of all three. “You have much left to do at the station, and I’m more than willing to cover for you- I’m sure they’ll excuse your absence while you cover the rest of your work for the case. It’s perfectly fine, and no trouble for me at all to do this. I’m well prepared and was there alongside you in all the briefings and meeting rooms, so-”

“It seems that we’re out of time! Thank you for listening, and may god bless this city. Stay safe, and please keep on the lookout for Mr.Hamilton.” With a nod in the general direction of the press, Laurens left the podium, forcing a smile at Angelica as he walked past her and stepped into the SUV designated for such occasions as this. He shut the door behind him, making sure to lock it, and leaned back in his seat as he sighed deeply. 

“Rough day?” Arnold asked as he stepped into the car, cameras flashing and reporters shouting behind him as he shut it. He buckled in as he waited for an answer and looked up expectantly at the other man after having not received any words in confirmation. Assuming that he had not been heard, he repeated the words, cocking an eyebrow in confusion.

“Benedict,” Laurens spat, words filled to the brim with menace, patience already worn through the barrier of professionality that typically prevented him from speaking the man’s first name. “Has it ever occurred to you that I don’t give a fuck?”

“I..I’m sorry, sir, what did you just say?” Benedict questioned, eyes narrowing in offense at his officer’s unkind words. He sat up fully at his question, hand on his knee and head tilted slightly to the side in confusion and the hope that he had misheard. “I could have sworn that you’d told me that you…”

“That I don’t give a fuck?” Laurens answered, cutting off Benedict’s words as he rolled his eyes at the monotony of the conversation with such a pathetic excuse for an officer. “You’re sure as hell right about that much. The amount of fucks I give is directly proportional to how much I want to talk to you or anyone at this moment- which is precisely none. Not to mention the fact that I had to hold you back from talking nearly the entire time I was up on that podium- how desperate for attention are you?”

“I- sir! What has gotten into you?!” Benedict exclaimed, offended beyond belief at his officer’s cruelty. Pulling himself back, leaning against the door to set distance between himself and Laurens as though that would soften the blow his ego had taken. “I understand that you’re distraught over what your husband's done to those poor victims, but that’s no reason to react like this! Heartbreak isn’t something to be taken lightly, but sometimes people need to take a step back and realize just what you’re doing to the people around you!”

“I know what the hell I’m doing!” Laurens retorted, acting as though he cared little about whether he kept his job or not at that very moment in time. “I know that my husband was cheating on me with the man we have in custody, and I know that my other husband forgave him for it, and I know that Alexander is an accomplice to murder, or worse! And you wanna know what else I know? I know that you’re an insensitive asshole that can't so much as sign his own goddamned paperwork! So why don’t you get the hell out of this vehicle, and take a cab home, and I’ll never have to see you again until I’ve successfully suppressed the urge to beat you senseless?”

“...I can easily report you to the city for that,” Benedict pointed out, though his voice showed trepidation behind the mask of false certainty that he’d painted onto his expression. “You threatened to assault an officer of the law- if you’d actually gone through with that, you’d lose your job, and all the respect that people held for you.”

“You want to talk about losing a job?” Laurens chuckled cruelly, laughter only a mockery of the emotions he found himself severely lacking. What use were emotions when none of them could be considered that ones that John would ever require so long as the men he loved committed such foolish acts as the ones the had? Alexander had cheated, with a man whose murders were infamous all throughout the country, and now it was beginning to seem as though Alexander had done more than simply assist. Lafayette? Lafayette had gone so far as to forgive Alexander, to hold him in his arms and profess his love once more after everything the shorter man had done to break their hearts. Now, shattered pieces of heart lay strewn across their bedroom floor, unable to be picked up or mended for years to come. “If you so much as refuse to leave this vehicle in the next twenty seconds, I’ll have you dishonorably dismissed from service. Unless this is what you want? I mean, after all you’ve done to practically sabotage the case, I would assume that the only thing you need from me is to be relieved of your station. Now leave, before I have to call for backup once the driving officer gets through with fighting off the press.”

“...Fuck you,” Arnold spat as he unbuckled and hurried out of the car, slamming the door shut behind him and allowing the harsh sound to echo through the small space along with Laurens’s thoughts. 

The car was empty.

Not as empty as the world, without a starshine and moonlight to guide him through the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long. I don't really have an excuse, other than a change in my medication. I feel a lot different, a lot happier than I used to. I like being happy. The story will continue, and I'll try to post on a regular schedule again. Thank you for your patience.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to know why I haven't updated in so long, it's in the bottom summary.

The musty air filled Kitten’s lungs as he stood outside the building, heart pounding in his chest as he stared intently at the door in front of him. Chipped paint and splinters of wood adorned it, but that wasn’t what Kitten was worried about- pain would be the least of his concerns, of one only counted that of physical proportions. However, if one were to count pain to the man’s ego, then they would most certainly find that horror lurked in Kitten’s mind from such fear. 

It had to be done, though. Waiting would do him no good, and he knew that he should just knock on the door, utter the password to get in, and beg for forgiveness of the man he’d abandoned. When one is told they will always be someone’s, they either reject such a statement or hum in appreciation, leaning in to kiss them with joy burrowing beneath their mind, sown down from their hearts. Kitten, however had rejected the statement but now deeply ached for such words to be true. He would always be King’s, no matter what he did- or who he did- but that was no guarantee, especially after the way he’d treated the man.

Raising his fist and swallowing his pride, Kitten took a step forward, ready to knock and admit defeat, but was cut off from his train of thought as the door opened in his face, hitting him in the nose. A single paint chip remained on his nose as a man slipped out from the now half-open door and shut it behind him, beginning to apologize before he realized exactly who it was standing before him.

“K-Kitten?” Samuel asked, stammering only the slightest bit in his shock at the sight of the taller man whose dark hair framed his shame-filled expression. “What are you doing here? If King sees you, he’ll…. That doesn’t matter. What did you leave here, I can go get it if you need it so badly? Just… Don’t go in there unless you want to be in a world of hurt. Trust me, it’s… It’s not pretty.”

“King’s in there, isn’t he?” Kitten replied, not answering Seabury’s question but instead responding with one of his own, which was more pressing to him at that very moment. Wiping off the paint from his dark skin, he stared intently down at Samuel before speaking again. “I know that this is where he takes people he needs taken care of, and it’s been a month since I… Since I hurt him. I need to see him, I need to be with him, I need him, just let me in, let me see him, let me speak to him, just for a moment, just for half a second, please I have to-”

“Samuel?” Called out a familiar voice from behind the door, accent thicker than usual due to the man thinking that there was no reason to seem more accustomed to the land than he truly was. “What in god’s name are you doing out there that you haven’t left yet? I know your car hasn’t started, since it’s so damn loud! I swear, one of these days it’ll break down and you’ll finally thank me for reminding you to get insurance!”

“...That’s him…” Kitten whispered in disbelief, as though he had only been hoping, not knowing, that King was in the warehouse he stood before. Still looking Samuel in the eyes, he narrowed his own in a silent plea of entry. When that didn’t work, he decided to verbalize his begging, as though it would do any good. “P-Please, I don’t have anyone or anything left except him, and I don’t even have him- but he has me! He said I would always be his, and I need him… Please, Samuel… You know me…”

 

“Not enough,” Seabury retorted, locking the door behind him and beginning to walk away from Kitten, doing his best not to look back. If he looked back, he knew that Kitten would give him a look that he’d be unable to resist, and he’d unlock the door and open it, allowing Kitten to run in and become witness to the horrors within. He just needed to not turn back, he just couldn’t shift his gaze to the half-sobbing man behind him, that was all he had to do, the one thing that he absolutely needed to do- and yet, he turned around anyways.

Just as he’d thought, Kitten stared at him with tear-filled glimmering eyes, hair still mussed up from what must have been a rather hasty change of clothes. His curls caught bits of fading sunlight, and reflected it back onto other coiled bits of hair. Lips pursed tightly in order to prevent himself from bursting into a desperate fit of sobs, he stumbled toward Samuel with pleading eyes. Letting out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding back, Seabury ripped his gaze away from Kitten’s and walked back over to the door, unlocking it and stepping aside just enough that Kitten could enter.

“...Be careful, Kitten,” Samuel muttered as he walked away quickly and got into his car, the engine rumbling loudly, as though a small animal were caught inside it. He drove off, hitting the side of a trashcan and only going faster as the clang of metal rang out through the deserted road he disappeared down.

Biting his lower lip and wringing his hands in a burst of anxiety, Kitten walked toward the door and reached out for the knob, pulling it into his grasp as though it may burst into flames at any moment. At no cosmic interference preventing him from opening the door, he pulled it open and flinched at the loud creaking sound it made as it slowly revealed the darkness within. Far inside the warehouse, there was a small bit of light, likely from a lantern, and Kitten slowly walked toward it, calling out quietly as he did so.

“King?” His voice rang out through the dilapidated building, interrupting the squeals of rats that were all around, but he couldn’t quite pinpoint what part of the room they resided in. “It’s me… Your Kitten.”

“Kitten… What are you doing here?” King asked after a moment of hesitation. He grabbed his lantern, letting a bit of metal in his hands clatter to the ground as he headed toward the man trying to navigate his way through the dark. After only a few moments of walking, his eyes widened at the sight before him. His Kitten had tears in his eyes, and lower lip bitten a dark red, almost enough to bleed. “...I thought you left me…”

“I was wrong,” Kitten whispered, hanging his head in shame. “I… I can’t do this without you. I don’t have anyone in the world, and no one respects me, no one cares about me anymore… Need you again. Always needed you, just…. Need you more than I thought I could live without. Please… Love me again. I don’t care what sort of things you do, I’ll even help you do them- as long as you love me? I’ll be yours forever. You promised me that much. You promised I’d be yours forever, and now I realize just what you meant… Please…”

Sighing quietly, King reached up and wiped away a tear that Kitten hadn’t realized fell down his cheek and left a glittering trail. “...Of course, Kitten. You’re mine- just as I told you so long ago… I need you… Would you like to start helping now? There’s a project I have going on at the moment. I want you to be the first to see it. Seabury was simply checking in on me… He hasn’t seen what I’ve created. It was for you, and only you, my darling dearest.”

Tears in his eyes, Kitten nodded, smiling as King took him by the hand and led him to where he’d been standing before, and shone the light upon a dark figure.

It was in that moment when Kitten let out a grotesque scream.

The person sitting in the chair- if one could even still call it a person- was tied to it with bloody rope, which had scabbed into their skin, causing a horrid sort of body shape. Blood was everywhere around them, some of it still fresh and scarlet, other bits of it having browned long ago and now stained the floor in circular patterns or marks of footprints traced alongside dust having gathered along the edges of the wearer’s shoes. The person, which upon further inspection seemed to be the remnants of a man, had no clothes left on, aside from torn remnants of undershorts that served as a loincloth of sorts. His nose was bleeding profusely, and due to the sight of clotted crimson on his lips Kitten was sure that it wasn’t the first time such a thing had happened.

Unable to watch such a thing for one moment more, Kitten averted their gaze, sending a silent prayer that the person tied to the chair deserved their fate. Suppressing a gag at the stale stench of dried blood that permeated the air, Kitten asked, “How long…. How long have you been working on it-this… Him?”

“A while, now,” King replied, setting down the lantern and picking up the blade that he’d dropped earlier. Wrapping his free arm around Kitten’s shoulders, he held up the blade, allowing the metal to glint in the light. “I’ve been using this one knife the entire time- impressive, isn’t it? Each cut, no matter how individual it may seem, was created by the same thing. There’s probably some art school meaning in that phrase, but I only majored in useful things, so I wouldn’t know!”

Kitten forced a strangled laugh at King’s words, biting his upper lip and hoping to high hell that it wouldn’t bleed, wouldn’t help King realize just how horrifying Kitten found this- horrifying, yes, but.. Something else was in there, too. Something dangerous. The blood was strewn all around the room, yes, but each coppery scent blended together in a sort of aroma that couldn’t be replicated anywhere but above a vat full of melted pennies. However, a bucket full of liquid metal could not precisely convey just how perfectly wrecked the man looked, despite his obvious status of deceased-

It was in that moment that the man took in a heaving breath, chest rising and falling not without incredible difficulty at the typically so easy task. Kitten jumped back in shock, flinching as though the man would rip off his confines and chase after Kitten, as though the dark man had been the one to imprison and torture him in such a way. While Kitten knew that such a thing was highly unlikely, and that if the man could break free he would have done so much farther back into the past, he still kept at a distance, cuddling up against King’s arm.

“Don’t worry, Kitten, he can’t hurt you…” King reassured, holding his Kitten close as he could without letting the place out of his sight- last time that had happened, it had fallen into the man’s hand and he’d been forced to get a plank of wood and hit him over the head. Knocking men out was an easy feat, but a tiring one nonetheless. “I just wish I could’ve been able to say that to my Charlie… Oh, where are my manners- I must introduce the two of you! Kitten, this is Alexander Hamilton, Hamilton, this is my Kitten!”

“...This is Alexander Hamilton?” Kitten asked, in shock as his eyes began to widen in realization at the sight before him, terrifying as it may be. “The Alexander Hamilton that the police force has been hunting down for the past month? The one whose testimony could help put the Alley Cat Killer in prison for life? Oh my god, he wasn’t on the run, he was-”

“With me!” King finished Kitten’s sentence with a strange sort of a smile. It was not a forced one, nor was it a grotesque sort of grin, nor was it a smug grin of confirmation. Instead, it was almost… Eager. The sort of smile a small child would reward their mother with as they held her well-cared-for hydrangeas in their muddy hands. “Oh, Kitten, do you like your present? I picked him out especially for you! He got rid of your playmate- though I would have done that myself, after learning just how gorgeous you are- and I had to take my revenge for that. But now he’s yours, Kitten! All yours to scratch up and play with and hurt- only if you want him, of course. If not, I’ll just have to dump him in a gutter somewhere and wait for the police to find and incarcerate him for what he’s done.”

“...What?” Kitten asked, clarification of the scene not coming to him easily. Instead, King’s words had to find their way through the labyrinth of Kitten’s consciousness, and very few made it through to his mind. “Hamilton isn’t the Alley Cat Killer, he’s just the accomplice! That’s what the police decided, what they know! With the killer having admitted to it, it’s almost solid proof!”

“Kitten, when will you learn that the police can be wrong?” King chided, pulling away from his lover and walking around to behind the chair, where he held the knife across Hamilton’s throat, as though the slightest tug backwards would slit through the arteries and end his life- although with the state he was in, Kitten wasn’t entirely sure if Alexander Hamilton wanted to live anymore. “Now, answer me: do you want your gift, or do you not? I would imagine that with a bit of… reeducation, Hamilton could be your playmate, to replace the life he took from us without you having even had a chance to properly care for Charlie, in the way I did. Yes or no, Kitten, it’s all very simple as to what you must answer.”

Staring down at the man before him, Kitten felt a thousand thoughts race through his mind at the very thought of Hamilton's demise- though he only made the effort to focus on a few thoughts. If he were to decline King’s offer, he would be forced to watch as blood spewed out from the man’s neck, crimson melting like wax down his chest, and a small part of him hated just how electric the very idea of such a thing made him feel.

If he were to accept, however? A million things could happen. King could scowl at him and spit cruelties at Kitten before killing Hamilton, anyways. Or perhaps King would untie the man and allow Kitten to care for his injuries, wrap his wounds and sterilize his torn skin. The healing process would take a very long time, and it would not easy for Kitten or Alexander, but this was the police captain's husband- surely he would be able to handle more than the average man. The captain of police would be overjoyed to see his husband again, to discover that his absence was not due to a guilty soul weighing him down, but due to the actions of a free criminal. Would he, though? It was an interesting moral dilemma and one that Kitten Would have to study further in order to find his own answer.

If he did not tell the captain that his husband had been found, then the man would continue to pick up the framed photo of him and almost throw it out, before placing it back on his desk. He had done such a thing a thousand times in just this past week, the glass smudged from being touched so frequently, which picture frames were not exactly designed for. On the other, hand if Kitten were to utter the few words required to inform the captain of his husband’s current state, it was no guarantee of his happiness. In fact, it was entirely possible that in such a moment of raw emotion, the worried over picture frame would be thrown to the floor and stomped on repeatedly between tears and sobs more broken the the shards of glass all over the carpet.

“Well?” King asked, having grown impatient from staring at Kitten’s blank yet thoughtful face for however long it had taken fro the man to come up with his thoughts. “I don’t have all day- and if you keep acting as though I do, I won’t hesitate to make my own decision. Hamilton is so pretty when he bleeds. The color looked so nice in contrast to his pretty green coat when I first got him to play with. It’s ruined now, and I had such fondness for it, but the past is past. Now, let him stay, or force him to leave us, for good?”

“...Keep him,” Kitten answered, forcing the fear out of his veins for just long enough to utter those fateful words. “And untie his blindfold, so he can see- it’s so damn dark, he won’t be able to do much. Besides, it won’t hurt if he can see. We have work to do… Together.”

Smiling softly, as though Kitten’s words had put him into a haze, King lowered the blade, setting it on the cold floor and untied Hamilton’s blindfold which was stained from the blood that tangled up his already matted hair. As soon as the cloth left Alexander’s vision, he opened his eyes and felt them go wide as he realized just how much of a man was truly standing before him.

“You…” He whispered in a broken, hoarse voice, one that was so quiet, so shaky, that one could almost not decipher the words he was speaking in that very moment. “I can’t believe John ever trusted you, after what you’ve done… What you’re doing.”

“And I can’t believe that his own husband did the things he did, and yet, here we are,” Kitten remarked, forcing a cruel mockery of a smirk onto his face as he held out his hand for King to grasp. Gladly taking the offered hand, King held it tightly and led Kitten out of the room, Alexander screaming at them hysterically, even after the door had been shut and locked behind the two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for how long this took. I've had these chapters sitting around waiting, and there really isn't much of an excuse. I had two foot surgeries and visited my dying grandmother, and I've just lost the ability to truly care about this story as much as I used to. It is completed, and I'll try my best to keep updating on a somewhat less erratic schedule. Sorry for the delay.


	20. Chapter 20

“Mr. Reynolds,” Madison began, his briefcase lying open on the table as he paced up and down the open floor of the courtroom. “Please inform the jury of your whereabouts on the evening of October twenty-seventh, at roughly ten thirty o’clock.”

“Well,” Reynolds began, biting his lip in nervousness and he stared down at the lawyer from his spot on the witness stand. “I was walking down the street, minding my own business, when all of the sudden, I felt a man grab me by the shoulders and pull me behind a dumpster. At first I thought he wanted money, so I pulled my wallet out of my pocket and threw it onto the ground, but… That’s not what he wanted…”

“What did he want, Mr. Reynolds?” Madison inquired, suppressing a grin at the words from his witness- this case really was too easy. In just a few more hours (or days, if he remembered anything about the legal system), Thomas Jefferson would be declared guilty by a jury of his peers, and he could go home and get some well-deserved rest. 

 

“I… I think he wanted to kill me,” Reynolds admitted, suddenly becoming shaky as his eyes shot from side to side in the courtroom, as though he was searching for someone. His hair was tangled, though it seemed as though an effort had been made to make him appear at least halfway presentable to the judge and jury. The effort wasn’t very well followed through with, but at the very least, Reynolds didn’t seem like some bum off the street that they’d paid to lie about their testimony. “He laughed when my wallet his the ground, and pushed me against a wall. It scratched up my back pretty badly, since it was brick, and he held a needle to my neck. The syringe had what I think was clear liquid inside of it, and I think he was about to inject it into me, doing god knows what, before I threw him to the ground. I took a few judo classes in college, so I still remembered a little bit about what to do. After that, I disarmed him and pinned him to the ground before calling the police.”

“Tell me, Mr. Reynolds, what did your attacker look like?” Madison pressed, unable to stop himself from letting out a small grin. He strolled up to the witness stand and looked Reynolds in the eyes, before realizing that something was most definitely wrong. The man couldn’t stop shaking, nor could he cvease in his small hand movements. It was almost as if the man was on a rather bad drug trip right in the middle of a room filled with police officers. Not a choice place to ride out a bad high, but Madison had more pressing issues to deal with; clearing his throat, Madison spoke again, trying to gain Reynold’s full attention. “Was he tall, short, fat, skinny, black, white, hispanic, or have any other important features that you could distinguish?”

“He was tall- like the Eiffel Tower!” Reynolds remarked, laughing hysterically at his own (rather poorly timed) joke. CLutching his belly as he howled in laughter, he wiped the joyful tears from his eyes and continued speaking with what Madison could almost call a slur to his voice. “He had curly hair- I could tell because some curls were sticking out from his mask, which covered his face. Looked like a burglar from an old-timey movie. He had big muscles, real big ones, but I managed to fight him off alright! Course I did, I used to be a police officer, you know!”

“Thank you for informing us of that,” Madison replied, internally groaning at the monotony. Reynolds had proclaimed his ex-cop status many times during his introduction to the jury, almost to the point of repetition that could make a man go insane. “Although I’m sure that most of us were already aware of the fact. Now, could you please point to the man that most looks like your attacker?”

“Objection!” Washington exclaimed, standing up from his chair and sending it back flying a few inches. “Your honor, the prosecution is obviously leading the witness! And even if they were not -which they most definitely are- then their so-called evidence would be circumstantial. Which, of course, is the reason why this case has been rushed along.”

“Your objection has been noted,” The judge, a man by the name of Benjamin Franklin, said dismissively as he turned his gaze toward Madison. “May the prosecution please proceed in a new direction?”

Nodding in confirmation, Madison tried speaking again, before being rudely cut off by Reynolds, who had half-vibrated out of his chair in excitement. His eyes were wide with something that Madison was unable to put words to, and he was unsure if he would wish to do such a thing when the man seemed as dangerous as he did.

“Oh, you judges are always so bossy about all the evidence!” Reynolds taunted, inadvertently spitting on Madison’s face as he spoke with a slur in his voice and a cruel sort of energy to his tone. “Circumstantial- circumsmashal! Just gimme all the evidence you find and use it to lock away the guilty person, that’s what I always said, you know! Used to be the bailiff, for a few years, too! Oh, how I hated it! Leading the witness this and leading the witness that! So what, who gives a flying fuck?! If the guy’s got something to say, let him say it! Of course, if it’s a woman up there, it’s a whole different story, since their brains-”

“Mr. Madison!” The judge shouted, cutting off Reynold’s thoughts with a sharp glare toward the lawyer. “It had become evident that your ‘witness’ is not suitable for testimony, nor should he be considered as a candidate later on. He is dismissed- bailiff, please take him away. All testimony from James Reynolds is now deemed unfit for the prosecution’s use.”

“But your honor!” Madison interjected, raising his arm in attempt to catch Franklin's attention before the man could bang down the gavel. “He’s a key witness! The only surviving victim of an attempted murder by the Alley Cat Killer! You can’t just ignore the evidence that is before you in this very moment!”

“All testimony from James Reynolds is deemed unfit for the prosecution’s use,” The judge repeated, as though he were talking to a child whose actions had been ignorant. “Have I made myself clear enough, or should I go to further extremes?”

“No, your honor,” Madison replied, meekness flooding his words, as he had not much more to be said in those moments of being stared down as though he were the defendant. He pivoted around on the ball of his foot and stalked back to his table, after muttering a curt, “Thank you for doing what was clearly best.”

“Fifteen minute recess, please return before the fifteen minutes are up in order to prevent the waste of time,” Franklin declared, banging his gavel against the wooden stand designated for such things. At the sound, a few jury members yawned and stretched their tired arms and legs, while Madison took a sip from his travel mug and sighed quietly. Instead of sitting impatiently at his seat and twiddling his thumbs as though he had nothing better to do, Franklin left the pedestal and walked into his private chambers. While he sincerely hoped that the closing of the door wouldn’t be followed by intent knocking, he still had all the right to wish for such a thing as he let the door click shut behind him.

Rubbing his temples as though it would do any good toward defeating the headache the case was causing him, Franklin sat down in his chair and glanced down at the papers laid on it. Most of them were that of crime scenes, while some were custody reports and others still from various cases- some completed, and others awaiting trial. This case, however, had caused all of the papers to become irrelevant. 

 

‘We need you to be entirely focused on this case,’ His boss has informed his as he handed over the manilla envelope containing all the case information Franklin would be required to know. Franklin had gladly accepted the file and refrained from opening it immediately- that would do no good toward his reputation of patience, no matter how wrongly earned it was. ‘In order to do that, we’ve agreed by committee that you no longer need your other cases. They’ll be switched to one of your colleagues, since they’re just as qualified as you.’

He flinched at the very memory, the sheer feeling of demoralization coursing through his veins like bad drugs that had been found on one of his ex-defendants. Attempted mass poisoning, as well as possession and distribution of illegal substances- that’s what the man had been charged with. Fifteen years in prison, with three more years on parole had been his sentenced, delivered by none other than the honorable Judge Franklin.

Now? Now all Judge Franklin had set for him was a serial killer whose court dates were three days apart each. Adding insult to injury, the prosecution was a cocky mess of a man whose police force had obviously neglected to assist him in his efforts. It would be a miracle if the man actually went away for more than assault. Of course, due to the impending law, the case would have to be hurried along like a mousetrap that held a cup of bleach instead of a piece of cheese. So of course the case had been ushered along, and of course the press went crazy over it, and of course Franklin was under strain because ‘can we truly trust the safety of our city in a man such as this?’, but he’d be forced to be grateful for at least one part. At least he wasn’t one of those damned lawyers, who somehow had equally weak cases- and at this point in the case (despite it being only the second day in court), Franklin was ready for a drink.

Just as he’d predicted only moments ago, a knock at the door interrupted his thoughts, and instead of continuing to knock or waiting for a few moments, the person opened it instead. In walked none other than the lawyer for the prosecution, James Madison. Despite lacking in the height department, the man walked in with an air of confidence, all long strides and hands carefully folded behind his back. His hair was neatly cropped, and as such did not move when he sat down in the chair directly across from Franklin.

“Thank you for knocking,” Franklin spat, passive-aggressiveness lacing his voice despite not often adorning his words when he spoke to the people with which he shared a courtroom. Instead of looking up to meet Madison’s gaze, to give him even the slightest bit of respect that Franklin had run out of too early in the day. He simply continued staring down at his papers. The glossy ink on thick paper was far more entertaining, as Madison’s air of confidence quickly melted down and dripped into something that would mold poorly-hidden desperation.

“I apologize for my inability to wait for a response, but I find myself rather pressed for time at the moment, so I thought it best to just get it on with,” Madison explained, biting his lower lip to suppress a cough. Even the slightest hint of illness could insinuate a future inability to adequately prosecute the defendant, and while that had been true for Madison a small number of times, he couldn’t allow it to occur now of all times. His entire career could rest in this case, no matter how simple it would have been, had the star witness not gone bat-shit crazy. “I… I would like to have Reynold’s testimony brought back onto the record.”

“That is something that can wait until court is in session, as should you know by now, after as many years as you’ve spent as a lawyer,” Franklin pointed out, and his words did happen to ring true. Any sort of dealing with the official court records would have to be done during court, in front of the defense, and allowing them to object or agree. Knowing the defense as well as he did, Franklin knew that they would perform the former. “Tell me, Madison, how many tries did it take you to pass the Bar Exam?”

“E-Excuse me?” Madison pressed, hoping that he had misheard the judge’s words. If he hadn’t, then… He was simply setting himself up for more humiliating than he’d already brought upon himself. “I could have sworn… I could have sworn that you asked me-”

“How many tries it took for you to acquire your degree, yes, that is exactly what I asked you,” Franklin cut him off, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, after having them droop down one too many times throughout the day. “And I would like an answer- a real one, not one of those beat-around-the-bush answers that they’re teaching nowadays.”

“...Two, your honor,” Madison admitted sheepishly, casting his gaze down to the floor in order to cope with the wave of shame that washed over his head and weighed down his shoulders, causing them to slump slightly. “It took me two tries in order to pass the exam.”

Before Franklin could tear into Madison once he’d received the answer, the bailiff burst into the room, eyes wide and face contorted into an expression of shock. Despite those features, Franklin sighed and motioned for him to speak, though the man likely would have done so without the permission.

“Your honor,” He said, taking heavy breaths from either surprise or having run from place to place in a short amount of time.

“The police have Alexander Hamilton in custody.”


	21. Chapter 21

In some ways, Alexander held spite in his heart for whoever had created the ability for one to obtain and hold onto too-clear memories. Those sort of memories, after all, were the ones that grew into your mind and twirled around thoughts like unwanted ivy. Each leaf would burn at the very idea of touching them, and every blossom became so much sharper around the edges upon closer inspection.

Perhaps that was why the memories were so clear-cut.

He could only remember the small things, and hope that he would have the ability to erase the picture that they formed, each small bit like bricks in the wall a man awaiting execution would lean against. King’s hands tight on his wrists as Kitten (whose true name brought a reality that Alexander wished not to face) bandaged his wounds. Scarlet and browned crimson surrounded him in both the stained pale bandages and in his mind. No greens other than the vomit Kitten wiped off of his chest. No pinks other than in the inside of one of King’s deeper cuts. No blues or violets save for the briseis that adorned his body like cheap jewelery.

Just red. Only red. Red had always been a peculiar color, in Alexander’s opinion. The color red stood for love, but also represented the purest sort of fury that a man could experience. In addition, it was the color of passion, but Alexander had always found it all too harsh for such a thing. Roses were red, but so were the dots of blood on one’s hands after holding such a flower by the stem. It had never made much sense to Alexander, the way red seemed so overused in the media and the world. Oceans were blue, land was a strange mix of greens and browns and greys. Those things, however, were natural. Unlike the lipstick marks on a man’s neck when he came home from a ‘long day at work’. He would murmur an excuse to his wife, who would in turn spare a glance toward his phone and attempt to hold herself back from snooping through it.

Maybe, Alexander supposed to himself as he sat in a metal chair in an interrogation room -one he’d found himself in only a month before, minus the chair- things could have more than one meaning, and both could fit equally well. The world could be the planet Earth itself, and you could refer to someone as ‘your entire word’ and it would not be considered as telling them that they are a terrestrial planet able to sustain human life. He laughed bitterly at the very idea of such a thing, at the reactions he’d get from his partners from such a statement. However, Lafayette would likely cry at the sight of him, while John would tackle him to the floor and lock him into a pair of handcuffs much like the pair he wore at the moment.

Metal cut into his tan skin, causing red irritated marks from when he’d pulled against them in his seemingly never ending moments of boredom. No officers had come in to interrogate him, no detectives peering in through the small, barred window on the door that led outside. What he would have done to breathe fresh air again, even the smog-filled gases that permeated every outdoor area in New York City. Every area, that is, except for Central Park. Green grasses that grew up to half the height of one’s ankles, with snow crunching beneath one’s feet during the icy cold winter months. Trees, whether withered and dormant or blossomed in full and soaked in colors and hues, made the world’s ceiling stretch so much higher than any skyscraper.

However, the world didn’t have a habit of allowing Alexander Hamilton to possess the things he so desperately craved. When all he’d wanted in the world was for his mother to recover from her illness, some sort of sick cosmic joke played out before him as his mother spoon-fed him her medicine. It tasted like strawberries far before ripening, but Alexander hadn’t yet tasted a strawberry in his life at that point. His mother’s smile had stayed on her face, even as her eyes fluttered closed with her son in her arms. Alexander was found in the dead woman’s arms. 

When Alexander had wished to be given a way out of the life he’d been handed, the world had decided to take it quite literally. The winds broke through his home (if one could even call it that) and forced him out of the glorified shack, into the cold. Rain soaked him to the bone, his clothes torn from the splintered wood of his ex-home and brutal forces of wind. Sand whipped in the wind around him and burned his eyes whenever he tried opening them to catch a glimpse of the destruction of the only world he’d ever known.

So he’d started writing. He wanted- he needed a way out. In some ways, what he needs happens to win out over what he merely wants. Wants are survivable when passed over, thoughts and hopes abandoned into the nothingness of the cruelty of life. Needs, on the other hand, are not as easy to cope without. Alexander had been given a miracle in the form of a passport, a visa, and a plane ticket to the United States of America. He’d wanted a second miracle in the form of a law degree, but that was granted to him, not by the universe, but by some rich asshole that sponsored underprivileged children. The man was later put into prison for embezzlement, but hey, free college.

It only made sense, though, that in the one moment of his life that Alexander wished for nothing more than to be totally, completely alone in the world, a man walked into the room. Before he could utter a single word, piece together a poorly-worded phrase that would cause Alexander to incriminate himself by answering, Alexander spoke.

“I’m not doing anything until I get a lawyer,” Alexander told him, face as blank as he could manage. It was the expression that he wore when listening to horrid occurrences that his clients had gone through- one that could be mistaken for sympathy or the pure nothingness that all men feared. Either way, it did the job well enough, as the officer sighed and put their hand on their hips as they began the spiel that Alexander was well-accustomed to by this point.

“We just want to help you,” The officer pointed out, as if their made-up fact was a fairly obvious thing to most people. “If you just answer a few questions, we’ll be able to let you go in no time. That’s a nasty bruise you’ve got on your face, right there. Where’d you get it from?”

“Once again,” Alexander stated calmly, looking up from the links on his handcuffs to make eye contact with the officer- smug enough to release his slight emotions at the moment, but not enough to cause any frustration other than what Alexander knew to be safe. “I won’t answer any of your questions without my lawyer present. I, as an American citizen, have the right to a lawyer when I am under arrest. If you could give me my one phone call to my lawyer, I’d be more than happy to get in contact with my legal representative, as is my right.”

“Fuckin’ lawyers…” The officer muttered under their breath as they pulled a disposable cell phone out of their pocket and handed it to Alexander, after unlocking one of his hands from the cuffs that held his arms to the cold table. “One call, and only one. If the person you’re attempting to contact doesn’t answer, you can either leave a message or call another potential representative. No funny business, or we call in a public defender for your case. Understood?”

“Yep,” Alexander replied, popping the ‘p’ in his word. He picked up the cell phone and dialed the number of the first person that came to mind for his legal defense. Upon hearing the sound that signified his desired target having answered the call, he spoke, not bothering to wait for the other man’s words. “Hello, Burr, it’s Hamilton. I’m down at the police station on some charges and I need you to come and represent me.”

“Hamilton, I know what you’re being charged with,” Burr replied, sighing in frustration at the sound of the other man’s voice. “Call another lawyer. I’m not taking your case, because it’d be career suicide, and I don’t particularly need that at the moment. If you’d like I could refer you to another criminal defense lawyer, but I’m afraid that I’ll be unable to take your case.”

 

“Allow me to rephrase my words,” Alexander said, somewhat cocky in his statement as he rolled his eyes as though he were having a conversation with a very incorrect first grader. “I know your wife’s phone number, and I won’t hesitate to inform her of your whereabouts with Washington every… What is it, noon on Tuesdays? I mean, I’ve seen you two leave for ‘lunch breaks’ together fairly often. So I need a lawyer, and I would guess that you desperately need your family to still care about you. I’m at the main station, come down as soon as possible, which I would hope is in only about half an hour. Thanks.”

 

“...Fuck you, Hamilton,” Burr spat, hanging up the phone and hurrying to get his jacket on, the fabric wrinkled instead of smooth because Theodosia hadn’t had time to iron it before Theo needed to be taken to her drama class yesterday... and because Burr had been too busy beneath Washington last night to iron his clothes himself. His wife didn’t need to know that, though. Law was a busy career, and papers, no matter how neatly filed, always seemed to be resting in tall stacks atop his nightstand. He shook his head, trying to rid his mind of the memory of Washington holding him down atop the man’s desk late one work night, sending papers flying onto the ground below them.

Theodosia wouldn’t need to know about that, either. She wouldn’t need to know about the contents of his late-night meetings, and she wouldn’t need to know why he was late to their anniversary dinner last month. He would almost remember the look on her face when he called to tell her that he’d be running late and to order without him. He hadn’t even seen her face, but he could easily -too easily- visualize the lines and faint wrinkles being pressed onto her dark skin as she muttered a short ‘okay, Renny’ because that’s what she always called him. Her Renny, that’s who he was. He wasn’t hers, though.

That much was evidence to him as he stepped into the car, pulling the door shut, and felt a buzzing in his pocket accompanied by a familiar ringtone. A ringtone he only had for one person in his contacts. The sound of church bells ringing continued, unlikely to go away unless he made a decision. Aaron knew that if he ignored it, his phone would ring ut again, with the same little tune it had before. SIghing he reached into his pocket and turned on his phone, connecting it to the bluetooth speakers in his car as he answered.

“Hello, George,” Aaron said, unsure if allowing any emotion to seep out of his words would be his downfall. He needed George, craved his touch ike fire, whereas Theodosia’s had always been ice shooting down his spine instead of heat. Her dark eyes were framed in a cold glare when he was late to something, but when Aaron was late to work, George gave him an understanding smile and a nod. Theodosias body was curved in all the wrong places that he’d worked so hard on convincing him were right. Then George came along, broad shoulders and sharp outline, with a shadow like a rough sketch and Aaron had been unable to keep his hands from exploring each crevice of his body whenever they were alone. Everything that Aaron had tried suppressing burst out of his chest like a virus filling the air, casting a shadow of the darkness that cloaked their secrets. With other men, Aaron had been able to resist. Not George, thought- George was special. George was the only man he’d had an affair with. Too long with a woman, too long unhappy with a woman that brought him the wrong kind of joy.

“Hi, Aaron,” George replied, his smile sounding through the speakers and joy permeating the stuffy air of Burr’s car, vibrating off the leather-based seats. In that moment, Aaron could hear him walking down a set of stairs and allowing his voice to echo through the small space he was hiding in. His shed in the backyard was his destination, no doubt. Aaron had been forced to hide out there when George’s wife came home early. He’d waited in that small, too small, far too small space for nearly three hours before George texted him that it was safe to leave. They only met outside of their homes after that incident. “I was calling because I’m free the whole weekend, since we won’t have court, and the trial is being put on hold for a little bit until they get a new suspect to testify against Jefferson-”

“It’s Hamilton,” Burr pointed out, not pulling out of the driveway just yet- he couldn’t risk driving down to the station now. Not when his mind as occupied with thoughts of George. He’d be too distracted to focus on Hamilton, and knew that the man would be well aware of whom Burr’s thoughts were occupied with. After bail was paid? There was no telling who Hamilton would call. Burr could only pray that the shit-for-brains fuck-up didn’t know his daughter’s phone number. “I’m actually going down to the police station to meet with him right now. He called for me.”

“This is great, Aaron!” George exclaimed, tone still all too joyful for a man who didn’t realize that his secrets were unlikely to remain secrets for long. “With Hamilton in police custody, he’ll go to trial with a public defender- since no lawyer would take his case, anyways. He wasted his phone call thinking you’d bail him out, but you obviously won’t, so we can be safe again! So… Saturday, at the office, 9 AM?”

“You’re right- I won’t be paying his bail,” Aaron responded, sighing quietly before he could muster up the courage to speak again. “I’m going to be his defense.”

“Wh-What?” George stammered, happiness fleeing from his voice instead of lacing it as it had done only moments ago. “But we had a deal! I would defend Thomas and get him incarcerated, then he would leave me alone. Leave us alone, what we have. He promised that he only wanted me as Jefferson’s lawyer, nothing more, but… He… I can’t believe that the bastard-”

 

“He doesn’t need Jeffershit put away anymore,” Aaron spat, spite swirling around him as he tightly gripped the steering wheel despite not being anywhere close to backing out of the near-empty parking garage and driving off to the station. “He just wants to make sure that he’s safe. Whatever you do to Jefferson is probably fair game, now. But if we want this- us to be safe again? We need to do what he asks. I… I need to drive, now… I’ll call you back later. Bye, George.”

“...Bye, Renny,” George whispered, hanging up the phone and sighing quietly. Aaron sighed as well, setting his phone down on the small spot between his seat and the passenger seat. As soon as he did that, however, his phone buzzed, sounding out the text alert. Picking it up again, he felt his face drop and held his head in his hands, letting the phone drop to the floor.

‘I’ll pick up Theo from dance practice, see you at dinner Renny <3’


	22. Chapter 22

“Fuck you,” Aaron spat, venom that laced his voice seeping through the corners of his eyes and threatening to spill out over the brim. “Fuck you for ruining my life, for ruining my marriage, for ruining any semblance of humanity that I used to be able to find in me.”

“All of those things sound more to be your fault,” Washington countered, unable to meet the steely gaze of the man who stood before him, so unlike his usual self. “I didn’t force you into our… Relationship. And yet, you accepted me, let me take you into my embrace and allowed yourself to be held close when you knew all too well that the acts you were committing were far less than moral. You can’t just stand there and expect me to accept all the blame that is meant to weigh own both of our shoulders-”

“Oh yeah?” Aaron challenged, stepping forward and staring directly upwards, forcing his former lover to meet a gaze that was nothing like the ones they had previously shared. This one was not soaked in honey and wrung out over the sorrows of life. It was filled to the brim with an emotion stronger than rage and less comprehensive than an all-encompassing fury. His fists were tightly balled up, so much so that his knuckles turned white, and with his arms shaking the way they were, one may have even mistaken him as being all too ready for a fight. Not George, though. George knew exactly what that look meant.

“...No,” He whispered, not returning Aaron’s gaze in full. Yes, his eyes were focused on those gorgeous glimmers of starlight that he saw in Aaron’s own, but his eyes showed no emotion. Emotion is only useful in certain circumstances, after all. “You deserve the world, and I have no doubts that one day, you will acquire it, and everything else you have ever wanted. I wish you the best of luck with your case- please relay the information to Jefferson that I will no longer be his attorney.”

“I won’t be doing jack shit for you,” Aaron replied, not even flinching as George stepped back and picked up his briefcase, heading toward the door and opening it, uncaring of if anyone in the hallway was to overhear, whether they be officer or mere civilian. “But… Why did you come here? When you knew that all I would be doing was throwing your ‘client’ under the bus in order to save a… thing… that isn’t going to matter anymore, and would be too risky to resume afterwards?”

“Aaron, I think we both know why I’m here…” George murmured in response, and before he could even say another word, muster up the courage to scream out what had been clawing at his heart for as long as he and Aaron had been together, he walked through the doorway and left the building, his footsteps echoing throughout.

“I love you.” The words never even reached more than a whisper to himself. If he had not the experience of suppression, the well-abused talent of hiding himself behind a reflection, he would have broken down into sobs. They would wrack his body, sending shivers down his spine and grief shooting down between the lines of his palms. However, there was work to be done.

And Aaron Burr did not intend to lose this impossible case. So, instead of allowing emotion to ripple across the ridges and wrinkles of his face, pulling new tides of thought into his mind, he left the room and headed into the interrogation room, where his client was waiting. The hallway left echoes of footsteps on linoleum, clinking softly with each movement, every single little soundwave making Burr’s scowl wear tighter into his skin. He had always been rather good at ignoring things- he’d ignored the deep shame of adultery. He ignored how George’s smile made his heart flitter whereas Theodosia’s did nothing of the sort. More than anything, though, he ignored how heavily his heart ached with the loss of the man he loved so dearly, leaving only a sense of something uneasy, something foreboding that none could name until after it had passed through their life.

“Sir?” A voice called out as a young man ran toward him. Most likely a police intern, judging by their outfit and diminutive demeanor. “Are you Aaron Burr, lawyer for Alexander Hamilton in the trial?”

“I don’t have time for interviews or plea deals, if that’s what you want,” Burr spat, scowling.

“N-No sir, I’m actually here to tell you that your services are no longer required. Your client, Alexander Hamilton, has been officially cleared of all charges. Congratulations.”

* * *

  


“You fiend, you’ve done it again,” Alexander whispered, pulling the other man close and kissing his neck as they stood in the weaning sunlight of late afternoon. “I didn’t know you had it in you, to be so good at your job, yet here we are! Tell me, darling, where should we go?”

“Anywhere that isn’t here,” Lafayette shrugged, kissing his partner’s forehead. “We have time, as long as the cops take all the clues I left them. King will be getting what he deserves, and so will Jefferson.”

“I still can’t believe you got that one to confess to doing the whole thing himself,” Alexander sighed happily, reaching up and tucking a stray curl behind Lafayette’s ear. “Truly a stroke of genius, having that little lover’s make-up session in the park- how long had we been followed already, by that point?”

“Must’ve been at least a month,” Lafayette guessed, grinning down at Alexander. “But we really should be going. After all, haven’t you heard? There’s a mafia in this town, and a dangerous serial killer to boot.”

“Let’s go, Kitten.”

**Author's Note:**

> Roses are red,  
> Violets are blue,  
> I love comments,  
> From readers like you


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